


Sing your notes, play your part

by persephonesprince



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Dragon Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion Whump, Kidnapping, Multi, Post-Episode: S01E06 Rare Species
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:40:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 54
Words: 120,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26745283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/persephonesprince/pseuds/persephonesprince
Summary: Jaskier has a little creature problem and a messy past  that he is having issues keeping from Geralt.Chapter and fic titles are lyrics from The Amazing Devil.Tags subject to change as this goes on.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 930
Kudos: 1125





	1. Up the ragged cliffs I scramble

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier has something that he should probably tell Geralt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter does draw on the episode Rare Species from the Netflix show, so all kudos to them for anything that you recognize from there.

Jaskier had followed Geralt to the Caingorn Mountains, trying to convince himself the entire time that he should really just tell the witcher what he really was. It had been over a decade now, surely Geralt had begun to suspect that his travelling companion was something other than plain old human. But the witcher was just so hard to predict, when Jaskier thought that he would react to something with anger, the man pulled out that dry humour that managed to get Jaskier every time. When Jaskier was sure that he had found a way to make him laugh, the man took offense and grumped and snarled like the wolf Jaskier called him. It was enough to drive a bard mad, it really was. 

It was a good thing for Geralt that Jaskier tended to get rather ... possessive with the people that he cared for. He knew that his witcher was more than a little perplexed by the constant showering with affection that Jaskier tended to go with at all opportunities, but it was good for the big lug to feel like someone appreciated him. Gods knew that he didn’t get it from many other places, and Jaskier was privileged to be the one who was able to get that tiny little smile from Geralt that he tried to hide from everyone. 

Besides, he didn’t know how much longer he would be able to keep it all from his travelling companion. He had been repressing his instincts for far too long and his skin was starting to get that awful tight feeling he remembered from the days his mother would chain him in the basement and there was no way he was opening up that particular can of worms right now. Jaskier refused to allow those memories to take hold again, even if the way his body was rebelling was dragging it all back up again. He was a bard, gods be good, if anyone could put on a happy face and pretend they were not in intense discomfit every second of every day until they wanted to claw their own skin off, it was a bard. 

While Geralt was off dealing with whatever monster of the week it was he had been hired to kill, Jaskier was busy trying to figure out his latest song. The melody was giving him a little trouble, as well as the fact he needed to somehow disguise the complete, soul consuming love that he felt for Geralt and the way it lurked in the back of his mind every second of every day even when he knew that Geralt was far more interested in sleeping with the Yennefer women they kept running into. He didn’t particularly want to air his dirty laundry to the entire Continent, but it did make for a rather catchy song. He would have to find some way to make it a bit more subtle, a few more metaphors or some more nature imagery, if these idiots who had hired Geralt would just shut up and stop planning to rob them blind. 

Jaskier turned to see them approaching Roach, their eyes looking a mite too acquisitive for his tastes. “Bollocks! Oi! No. No, no, no! No! Aah! You stop... stop that, or I... I'll, uh...” he paused, looking around for inspiration. He didn’t particularly want to hurt these humans, but also he didn’t want to let them take all of their things. Where was Geralt when you needed him, the witcher was perfect for dealing with these kinds of scenarios, no one ever tried to rob him to his face at least. 

“Or you'll what? Sing us to death?” the man said, clearly judging the bard. Jaskier sucked in his breath, ready to defend himself, when an older gentleman appeared with two rather attractive and dangerous looking women flanking him. The man’s vest had Jaskier recoiling in fear, memories welling up at the sight of the faded gold scales. The two women wore rather well worn armour which complimented their dark skin and athletic physiques, the pair of them practically radiating confidence and power as they flanked the man. Jaskier was pretty sure they were Zerrikanian and wondered how the hell they had become caught up with the man they seemed so protective of. 

“Perhaps you did not hear the man.” the stranger said, the smell of fire and brimstone wafting to Jaskier on the air. 

“Yeah! Perhaps you didn’t… Di- Sorry, who are you?” Jaskier blinked rapidly as the scent registered. Another dragon, really! Well, this was bound to get interesting then. 

The man sneered at the dragon, “Move along, old man.” Jaskier tried to hide his wince. From the look and smell of the dragon, he was much much older than Jaskier, probably older than the family that Jaskier had left behind so many years ago as well. He tried to fight the urge to cringe and apologise for the man’s behaviour, even if he was in no way afflilited with him, and swore at himself for allowing his stupid instincts to have this much sway over him. He had left his family to get away from this kind of bullshit, no way was he letting himself get dragged back into it all. 

“Do as the bard asks or I’ll be forced to draw my weapons.” The dragon cast a calming look over Jaskier and the younger dragon resisted the urge to snarl. He was no hatchling to be soothed like this. 

Jaskier shook off his thoughts as the stupid man who had not yet figured out that he was talking to a rather powerful creature capable of ripping off his head with little effort continued in his effort to rile up the dragon. “What weapons? I see no steel ‘ere.” He shoved at the older man, pushing him towards one of the women who caught him easily. The other woman stepped forward, a snarl twisting her features into an expression of savage beauty while she snapped the man’s neck. 

The bard recoiled, crying out in alarm at the sudden violence and mentally cursing the day he let himself get wrapped back up in dragon drama. The attractive lady who had just killed a man said some witty one liner, but Jaskier was too busy wracking his brains for a way out of this to pay much attention. He kept sneaking looks at the other dragon, trying to decide if it was worth it to try and run or if he needed to face this. He would much prefer the running, it had been working for him well so far. 

Just as he made the decision and was about to see if he could slip away while the others were occupied with the alderman, Geralt entered with his usual flair for dramatics, throwing the monster’s head in before him so it rolled to the alderman’s feet. He came skulking out the cave he had been, scowling at the would be thief as he rounded the rocks between them. “I believe those are mine,” he said, motioning to the bags the alderman had taken from a disgruntled Roach. The man dropped them and tossed a bag of coins to the witcher, his face white as he saw the man he had been planning to steal from. 

“Geralt, they- With the-” Jaskier babbled, trying not to be obvious as he gave the witcher a quick once over and took a subtle sniff of the air to see if he could scent any blood. “This woman just killed a man with her bare hands for trying to steal your horse.” 

Geralt looked at the strangers before turning back to Jaskier with that sardonic little expression that he knew got under the bard’s skin. “Maybe she’ll make a better travel companion, then.”

Jaskier huffed out an annoyed breath, not in the mood for Geralt’s humour right at that present moment. He decided to ignore Geralt’s sudden decision to become a comedian and turned back to the dragon, puffing himself up and ignoring all the instincts screaming at him to make himself small and non-threatening. “Uh, I’m sorry, who are you, exactly?”

The man smiled indulgently at Jaskier’s small rebellion. “I am Borch Three Jackdaws. These are my companions, Téa and Véa. I’ve been looking for you, Geralt of Rivia.” 

Jaskier sighed and resigned himself to having to deal with the man for a few days. He wasn’t willing to cut short his time with Geralt; he refused to let his past interfere with his decisions any more. 

* * *

They had decided to help Borch, well, to be honest, Geralt had decided to think with his cock and go wherever Yennefer went, following her like a puppy while Jaskier then followed him like an equally pathetic puppy, but that was not important at all. What mattered was that Jaskier was following along with the plan, not telling Geralt that this whole dragon hunting thing was going to work out differently from what the witcher was predicting, what with their employer being a dragon and all, but Jaskier had clearly been relegated to the role of comedic sidekick again now that Yennefer had shown her face. 

He had no idea why Geralt was so obsessed with her. He had some ideas, he was man enough to admit that the woman was ridiculously beautiful and the small imperfections only made her more eye catching, but still. The woman was a snarky asshole (not that Jaskier wasn’t that too but he at least was endearing about it) and was clearly playing some kind of game here. Geralt was going to get his big stupid heart stomped all over and Jaskier would have to pick up the pieces when the witch went on her merry way. 

He spent the trek up the mountains watching her while he tried to avoid Borch and trick information out of Téa and Véa. Geralt continued to brood, his brows beetling further and further as he thought about what they would find at the end of their journey. Jaskier knew that his witcher was uncomfortable with the idea of killing a dragon for no apparent reason; he was a sweet and caring man beneath all of that “witchers have no emotions” crap he liked. It was one of the things he liked about the man, but he knew better than to push it at times like this. 

It wasn’t until Yennefer and Geralt disappeared for a little chat one day that it all turned pear shaped. Jaskier would have followed after to try and defuse the tension between them, but the two beautiful amazonian looking women grabbed an arm each of his and marched him off to talk to Borch. The dragon was perched on a log, overlooking a glade with a serene expression on his face. While the view was rather stunning, the clear weather leaving them with a perfect view of the mountainside and the plants that covered it like a rather worn blanket, Jaskier was not in the mood to wax poetic on the scenery. 

“Hatchling. I thought it was past time for us to have a talk,” he said, patting the log beside him as the women released Jaskier’s arms. The bard looked back at them, neither of them showing any emotion on their face, before sighing and going to sit beside Borch. He refused to speak, if the older dragon wanted to play games then he would have to play them alone. Jaskier was not getting caught up in this all again. 

Borch sighed when Jaskier remained silent. “I mean you no harm, hatchling. I was merely curious as to how one so young ended up out here, no hoard and no family to care for them. Which tribe do you belong to, little one?” 

Jaskier couldn’t stop the way his lips lifted from his teeth in a snarl. “Pankratz, not that I use that name anymore. I will not be going back either, so if your intention was to return me to the loving bosom of my family, it will be over my dead body.” 

He heard Téa and Véa mutter to each other in displeasure at his words, Borch silencing them with a rumbling growl in his chest. “Ah, you would be Viviene’s son then. I remember hearing the news that one of her children had left. She has always been a rather ... unpleasant individual to deal with and we all hoped that the child had managed to get away from her, although most feared that she had merely killed them and was trying to cover it up.” 

Jaskier chuckled softly, looking down at his hands and trying to forget the smell of his own flesh burning. “Mother never did like anyone defying her. I am surprised that she even let people know, it’s not like many knew that I was alive in the first place.” 

“Yes,” Borch said, his voice heavy with pity that had Jaskier’s skin crawling. “She only admitted it when someone discovered the ... room where she kept you. Some of the elders ended up investigating and announced that the blood was clearly a child of her’s, albeit one that no one had ever met. There were attempts to get mages to try and trace you from the blood that they found, but the mages were rather busy with their own political matters and by the time they arrived Viviene had destroyed the last few traces in a rage.” 

Jaskier shuddered at the idea of his mother in one of her moods. He had been on the receiving end enough to know exactly how she preferred to vent her anger. But what had he expected, her favourite punching bag had managed to get out from under her claws, of course she would lose her mind. 

“You can rest easy, Jaskier,” Borch said, resting a hand gently on the bard’s knee. He had to resist the urge to relax into the power he felt radiating from the older dragon, everything inside him wanting to relax the constant vigilance he lived with and allow his elder to take care of everything. He managed to keep himself rigid through sheer strength of will, forcing himself to remember his mother’s claws slicing into his skin in an effort to hold himself together. “I need your witcher to help me with a small problem, but I will not be handing you back over to your family. I will not allow Viviene to get her claws on you again, little one.” 

Téa and Véa stepped forward, each placing a hand on his shoulders as well. “We will not allow her to hurt you. We are honoured to protect Borch and will protect you just as much.” Véa said, her sister nodding in agreement. Jaskier sighed and shrugged out of their touch. 

“Thank you for the offer, lovely ladies, but I am afraid that I must decline. I am not getting caught up in this all again, I am quite happy not interacting with any other dragons at all. Geralt can help you with your problem, his bleeding heart won’t let him do otherwise, but then I ask that you leave us alone. I won’t tell anyone what you are and expect the same courtesy back. I am nothing but a simple bard, albeit an amazingly talented one, but that is all I am and I would like to keep it that way.” 

With that, the bard stood from his seat beside Borch and went to walk away. Borch stopped him for a moment, grabbing his arm to pause him in his dramatic exit. “This offer does not expire, hatchling. No matter what happens with this hunt, the three of us will be here for you. If you need us, you only have to call.” 

He could see in Borch’s face his recognition of the pain that Jaskier was in, his knowledge that the younger dragon was fighting every moment against a deep ache in his skin that made him want to scream and howl and rage against a universe that would do this to him. He could see the need in the man’s eyes to try and alleviate that pain, but Jaskier needed it. Without the pain it would be far too easy to forget who he was and why he needed to be so careful. The pain reminded him of how much effort it had taken to gain his freedom and how much he needed to keep himself free of the gilded cage that had been his life before. 

Jaskier growled under his breath and pulled his hand away. He pushed past the two women, ignoring their disappointed faces as he refused to acknowledge them, and stormed back to the camp to find the others. 

Of course, Yennefer and Geralt were off somewhere having yet another argument and then they had to take some ridiculous shortcut the dwarves had found over a stupidly high chasm. And of course Borch had to be all noble and traumatise Geralt by falling “to his death,” his companions joining him as well and leaving Geralt miserable with misplaced guilt. It wasn’t like Jaskier could tell the man that they would be fine, that Borch would have changed forms as soon as he was out of sight and grabbed both women before flying off to this dragon cave much faster than they would be. He was just the clueless bard and he sure as hell wasn’t changing that any time soon, no matter how much Geralt was breaking his heart with his sad little face. 

He found Geralt sitting by himself, misery practically radiating from him. Jaskier knew that he had to try and distract the witcher, he was far too kind and noble to be allowed to stew in his guilt like this for a man that wasn’t even dead. He took a moment to look out over the cliff, trying to see the world like Geralt did for a moment. He was sure the man was focusing on the bleakness of the scenery, ignoring the patches of life triumphantly sprouting across the mountain in defiance of the harsh conditions. He did have a way of focusing on what he wanted to see rather than appreciating the whole situation, but Jaskier supposed that his way of dealing with a world that more often than not seemed to be set against him. 

“You did your best,” Jaskier said, moving to sit beside him. “There's nothing else you could have done.” Geralt didn’t react, staring out into the distance like the answers were written on the horizon. “Look, why don't we leave tomorrow? That is, if you'll give me another chance to prove myself a worthy travel companion.” 

Geralt grunted at him like usual, not even making eye contact. Jaskier sighed and kept going, hating to see his dearest friend, the one person who treated him like Jaskier the bard rather than an annoyance to be scared off or controlled, so melancholy. 

“We could head to the coast. Get away for a while. Sounds like something Borch would say, doesn't it?” Jaksier chuckled to himself. The older dragon definitely sounded like the elders that Jaskeir remembered from his mother’s home, always mouthing platitudes and proverbs, no real help to anyone but enjoying the sound of their own wisdom. “Life is too short. Do what pleases you while you can.” 

Geralt turned to look at him askance. Jaskier winced, knowing that the stink of pain and fear was probably wafting from him no matter how much he tried to clamp down on his scent. Thinking of those days back with his mother were bound to do that., and the way his skin was feeling more and more like it was a size too small didn’t help matters. “Composing your next song?” the witcher asked, knocking his shoulder against the bard’s. 

“No, I'm just, uh, just trying to work out what pleases me.”

Geralt grunted again, and the two lapsed into companionable silence. This is what Jaskier had wanted when he left his family, to be able to sit out in the open air, to speak his mind without fear of punishment, to be able to be who and what he wanted to be. Having such a good friend in Geralt was just the added bonus that he had never known he wanted, but now he had it, he would fight with all of his strength to keep it and to keep his witcher happy.


	2. Instead you just walk past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A certain conversation is had on a mountain top.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, some of this is straight from the episode, so keep that in mind. 
> 
> The current upload plan is every three days, so hopefully that keeps it going without making it super rushed. Sorry it's not daily like my last fic, but that was way too much.

Of fucking course Jaskier slept through the whole confrontation with the fucking Reavers and the dwarves. He blamed fucking Borch, the man had seemed so at ease with himself and his instincts, it had coaxed that stupid reptillian brain of Jaskier’s into thinking that they were safe with an elder to look after them and now look what had happened. To be fair, he hadn’t had a sleep like that in years, but that was besides the point. He had been left behind, and he was not missing out on whatever drama they all got up to without him. 

He stumbled his way up the rest of the mountain, swearing and kicking at the dust the whole time. He could smell the dragon fire from miles away, the scent raising his hackles and making the skin on his arms ache with long ago sense memories. Hell, he could feel the tightness of his skin increasing, the ache starting to set into his bones and making him bare his teeth in a snarl. 

He tried to keep it positive though. When he saw the dwarves frozen along the path to the ominous looking cave he tried to joke around, not wanting to let the way the smell of brimstone and blood hanging heavy in the air get the better of him. And he was rather proud of that when Borch revealed that he was not dead after all, surprise surprise, but instead had been trying to protect the egg, his egg if the way that it smelled so strongly of him was anything to go by. 

Seeing the egg like that, nestled in the curve of its mother’s body in one last protective embrace, had Jaskier’s instincts flaring to life again. The urge to look after the poor thing, to pull it close and croon to it gently while coating it in a steady flame, was almost overwhelming and he could see the sympathy in Borch’s eyes when Jaskier almost shook with the effort to pretend everything was fine. He was a failure of a dragon anyway, it wasn’t like he could help the little egg in any way. 

He slunk away, not wanting Geralt to see him when he was so clearly torn and needing some space to get the gods awful yearning under control or at least to something manageable that didn’t make him want to scream in agony for all he had lost and would never have. He found another little cave indented into the rock face and curled up into a ball, wrapping his arms around his knees and holding himself in a tight embrace to try and quell the way his skin felt like it was burning and shifting all over his skin. He knew it would pass eventually, he had never been able to shift anyway despite his body’s insistence that it needed to change. It just meant he needed to wait it out. 

He sung gently to himself, hating the way his voice caught as the fire seemed to rip through all of his muscles, sending them into spasms of pain as they tried desperately to assume a form they would never be able to. He had been dealing with this all of his life, but nothing seemed to make it any better, not the way his mother tried to rip the dragon form out of him or the way he tried to ease the pain out of his limbs. It was just something to be endured and that made it all the worse, knowing that there was nothing to do besides wait it out and try to allow the pain to run rampant through his body like a marauding army. It wasn’t in his nature to give in to the pain, but years of trying to fight it had taught him that the easiest way to get through it was to simply let it take its course. 

Seeing Borch and the egg had merely brought the pain on faster. He had been lucky enough not to have one of his episodes when he was travelling with Geralt, but it was only a matter of time before the pain had set in again. His body had taken the sight and smell of another dragon as a signal that it should try once more to force him to shift. He couldn’t blame the man, he had no way of knowing just how useless Jaskier was, his mother had done a good job of covering up her greatest shame. 

Once he had allowed the fire to burn through every cell in his body, Jaskier shakily pulled himself to his feet. The small cave he had tucked himself into was hazy with smoke that had escaped him as he whimpered and sang, but there were no scorch marks and his clothing was all in one piece, so Jaskier was rather proud of himself. He dusted off his red coat, wincing at the irony of his clothing appearing more draconid than he did, and stumbled out of the cave in search of Geralt. He took a quick sniff of the air and followed that smell of heartbreak and heroics that Geralt insisted was just onion, wobbling slightly on legs weak from the pain. 

He found the man almost vibrating with anger about something. Clearly it had not gone well with Yennefer and Borch, and if Jaskier had been in his right mind he would have left the witcher to cool off before approaching him. As it was, he was still trying to ignore the last quick flashes of fire searing through his body and stumbled down the mountainside towards Geralt, trying to force the persona of cheerful bard to the front to distract from the smoky scent he knew was hanging about him. 

“Phew! What a day! I imagine you're probably...”

“Damn it, Jaskier! Why is it whenever I find myself in a pile of shit these days, it's you, shoveling it?” Geralt spun on him with a feral gleam to his eye. He seemed caught up in something else, barely seeing the way Jaskier shook slightly with the effort of remaining upright. 

“Well, that's not fair,” Jaskier said quietly, reeling from the pain and the sudden aggression of the only man he considered a true friend. He knew he should stop, should quit while he was ahead and leave Geralt to nurse his anger. Normally he would be able to give as good as he got, but with his skin feeling so tender he felt like every nerve was exposed, his instincts screaming at him to keep Geralt happy, to keep the only good thing in his life close to him and do whatever it took to make him feel the same as Jaskier did. 

Geralt bared his teeth at the bard, all his anger at the world and the others from the hunt being vented at the one person he knew would not bite back. “The Child Surprise, the djinn, all of it! If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands.”

“Right. Uh...Right, then. I'll... I'll go get the rest of the story from the others.” Jaskier took one last shaky look at the witcher, hating the way that Geralt's golden eyes had turned an acidic yellow with his fury. “See you around, Geralt.” He turned and stumbled away, heading down the mountainside and as far from the camp as he could. His skin started to itch again and he let out a muffled scream, biting into his arm to stop the noise reaching the witcher. 

He finally collapsed into a small alcove in the rocks once he was sure he was out of hearing, clawing at his skin to try and make the pain stop. It was burning worse than it had in years, as if the more draconic side of him wanted out to try and shield him from the pain in his heart. He sobbed, feeling the blood drip down his arms and onto the brown dust that seemed to cover his clothing. 

It wasn’t fair, he hadn’t done anything to deserve that kind of treatment and he knew intellectually that Geralt was merely frustrated with something and taking it out on the nearest punching bag. It still hurt, to be blamed for all the evils in the life of a man that he tried so hard to care for. He supposed that was only to be expected though, he was a screw up in every sense of the world. Why did he expect to be a good friend for Geralt? The man was doing fine without him now that his reputation had improved a bit, he didn’t need the dead weight of a broken dragon holding him back from whatever heroics destiny had planned for him. 

Jaskier knew better than to get greedy, to let his stupid instincts convince him that he could keep the good things in his life close to him in the same way that his mother hoarded her wealth. All he had were the songs he sung and that was just enough to keep him moving in the world, to keep him free from anything that would try to cage him. He shouldn’t be so greedy, he should know better, he should be better. 

He hated that he was like this, that he was reduced to this disgusting mess of a man. He was the disappointment that his mother had always called him. She had been right when she had told him that he was nothing more than a burden. He had come out of the egg broken and it seemed like he would never be anything more than the mewling, pathetic mess that she had been forced to punish to keep in line. 

Footsteps echoed through the canyons, curling Jaskier up into an even tighter ball as he tried to smother his sobs and avoid detection. It didn’t work, the steps getting closer and closer until there was a shadow looming over Jaskier where he cried in the dirt. 

“I am sorry, hatchling.” Borch’s voice still rumbled with the echoes of his dragon form, the man clearly not bothering to pass as fully human. “I could hear the whole thing.” 

“Fuck off,” Jaskier moaned, tears streaming down his face and falling into the dirt. He didn’t want to deal with this shit right now, he needed space to get his shit hole of a life back together. 

Borch sighed, moving to sit beside the young dragon in the dirt with a few grumbled complaints at his old bones. The scent of brimstone and fire seeping off of him was oddly comforting to Jaskier, especially with the scent of leather and sword oil he could smell on Téa and Véa that reminded him of Geralt so much. “Little one, you are worth much more than crying in the dirt like this. I shan’t let you do this, allow words that you know to be false to bring your mother’s words to the forefront like this. You will be coming with us.” 

Jaskier pulled himself up slightly, propping himself up on an elbow to look at Borch. The older man had this look in his eyes, like he could see something in Jaskier that was worth more than anything he had ever been told about. It made him want to believe, to believe that there was something more to him than what he had been told all his life. 

“Why? I am nothing special, just a used up bard, a pitiful excuse for a dragon, nothing worth spending your time on.” 

He ignored the angry mumblings he could hear from Téa and Véa, focusing on the way that Borch shook his head sadly and looked at Jaskier as if he could see more of the bard than he had ever thought he was worth. “Oh, hatchling. You will be coming with us. We will need you to help with the egg, I can’t say I have the energy to be keeping up with a newborn anymore. We heard Myrgtabrakke’s screams, heard her calling out for someone to care for her child, and we couldn’t leave it.” Jaskier refused to flinch as Borch reached out a gentle hand and rested it on the bard’s head, patting at his hair soothingly. “It’s the same for you. I could hear you screaming out, Jaskier, not aloud, no, but no less heartfelt for it. I could no more abandon you to your grief than I could leave the egg, my egg, unprotected.” 

Jaskier sniffed, trying not to allow the kind touch to seep too deep into his bones. He shouldn’t be allowing this, shouldn’t even be considering what Borch was offering. It was far too enticing though, to feel like he was wanted or helpful. Maybe he could manage to do this and not let his heart get involved, could find a way to help Borch with this egg, with this child who would need love and support and someone to show them all of the beautiful things out there in the world, and still keep his heart safe. Besides, being around the other dragon was easing the pain in his bones, the comforting smell of smoke and fire dulling the pain of not being able to shift. 

“Say I come with you, what then, Borch? Where are you planning on taking the egg?” 

Borch smiled, his eyes glinting like he thought that Jaskier had already made up his mind. Which was super rude, but Jaskier was not going to dignify his smugness with a response. “We are going to take it into the Fiery Mountains, I have a cave there that will allow us to care for the egg without any humans getting close or your family catching wind of you. They live on the other side of the Korath Desert, last I heard. Wanted to get away from the shame of having a son go rogue, according to your mother, running to save face is what the rest of us thought. Good riddance to bad eggs, as far as I am concerned.” 

Jaskier should not have found the increasing smell of smoke and charcoal reassuring, but the anger radiating off of Borch at the mere mention of his family. It was the deciding factor for him, the one thing that convinced him that he should go with Borch. “Fine, but you need to remember, I am not a proper dragon, not like you. You have to keep that in mind when you are letting me near this little egg. I take no responsibility if it ends up ... wrong, like me.” 

Borch snarled, his hand tightening in Jaskier’s hair but loosening as soon as the bard tensed to resume the petting he had been giving him. “You are not wrong. That bitch who laid you is the one who is wrong. My child will be lucky to have you in it’s life, Jaskier. Now get up out of the dirt. We have a long way to fly and I would rather get going before those stupid humans get it in their head to come back to see what else they can take from that poor dragon in the cave. We had to wait for the egg to be strong enough to be moved, we will be wasting no more time in this land of death and unhappiness.” 

Jaskier smiled shakily and clambered to his feet, offering Borch a hand to help him up from the ground. Véa and Téa both bowed to Jaskier as he stepped from the alcove he had been hiding in, respect glittering in their eyes. 

“Welcome to the family, Jaskier,” Véa said, grinning slightly before her sister and her pulled Jaskier into a tight hug. He panicked slightly, not expecting the move from women who seemed so serious all the time but relaxing into the affection he could feel radiating from them both. This time, he would not screw this up, he would not let this family down.


	3. In the backwards of the world

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Borch takes his family home.

Borch had flown them to a cave he had in the Fiery Mountains, his dragon form large enough to accommodate two Zerrikanians and a dragon that couldn’t shift and instead spent his time cradling the egg to his chest carefully. It may have been almost the size of his torso, but Jaskier was feeling ridiculously protective of the poor darling and had refused to let either Véa or Téa hold it, claiming that it would be comforted by the presence of another dragon so close to it. No one had argued with him and the way the heat radiating from its muddy coloured shell increased seemed to prove him right. 

It was a strange feeling, something that Jaskier was not particularly accustomed to, being the protector rather than the burden. His mother had begrudgingly kept him from the dangers of the world, even if that meant trapping him with her own personal brand of danger, and even Geralt had kept the bard safe from any danger even if he protested about the bard accompanying him. With the egg, Jaskier had the chance to look after something and the warm feeling that burned in his chest at the thought was enough to keep a smile dancing across his lips throughout the flight despite feeling rather useless at not being able to fly himself. 

His skin was still feeling tight and itchy with the need to shift, but Borch and the egg were somehow easing the pain slightly, enough that he could keep himself under control. At some point he would need to just give into it, lose himself to the burning pain of scales that could never see the light of the sun trying to burst through his skin, but he could hold it off for a while longer yet. 

When they did alight in the mountains, a rather dramatic flame red sunset bouncing off of the cliff faces to greet them, Borch nudged Jaskier to a rather large and lavish looking cave. From the entrance it looked like any other opening in the cliff face, nothing to bring any attention to it if someone went looking but large enough to allow Borch to walk comfortably inside even when he was the size of a small castle. Téa and Véa immediately took control of bringing their belongings inside, chuckling at the way Jaskier watched them like a hawk when they carried his lute in with the care it deserved. Once they were further inside though, Jaskier staggering after them all with the egg clutched tightly to him as a way to keep his nails from gouging lines into his skin to try and alleviate that gods damned itching, the cave opened up to reveal some of the more modern amenities that they had secreted further inside. 

There was a large fire pit under a crack in the rock face that was stained with smoke, clearly used to keep the air in the cave clear. There were several shelves and desks dotted around the room, each overflowing with books and manuscripts that had Jaskier’s fingers tingling in excitement. Fabric was hung from the roof from the back, sectioning off what looked to be the sleeping quarters if the profusion of cushions and blankets meant anything, and part of the cave led off into another alcove from which the sound of flowing water reached Jaskier’s ears when he allowed his hearing to surpass the usual human limitations he enforced on himself. All in all, it was a beautiful space, one that had Jaskier relaxing instantly and already picturing how he could spend time relaxing in the water or reclining on the cushions and reading some of the books. 

“Does this meet your standards, hatchling?” Borch rumbled, his scales reflecting in the light that seeped through some strategic gaps in the rockface. “I’m sure it’s nothing compared to some of the palaces you have performed in, but it should be more than sufficient to raise this little one in, if you ever decide to put the egg down.” He blew smoke from his nose in his amusement, baring his teeth in a grin as Jaskier frowned and coughed pointedly at the smoke in his face. 

“It is more than adequate, as you well know. And I would put her down, or him, do we know if she is a him or a her yet? Anyway, I would put them down, if there was something suitable to put them down on. The poor darling deserves more than just the rock, after all they have been through the least we can do is get them a little pillow or something.” 

Véa laughed at him, typing her head back as she did so that the light danced over her skin in a way that reminded Jaskier of a rather beautiful topaz he had seen being imported from Zerrikania. Hell, when he looked closely, he could see small topazes glittering amongst the braids the women both wore their hair in, a small touch of vanity when the rest of their outfits were so practical and dangerous looking. “You are an adorable little hatchling, to be sure,” she laughed while her sister bustled off towards the sleeping areas. “Villentretenmerth would never allow anything that would damage the little one. The egg is quite solid, it would not feel a thing.” 

The bard poked his tongue out at her in annoyance, any hope of trying to be dignified gone as he allowed his stupid temper to catch up with him. “Well, excuse me for wanting the little darling to be comfortable. It wasn’t my idea to come here, you all dragged me along. Maybe I would be better off just leaving. If I head out now, I can probably get to the closest town in, oh, the next week.” He huffed and started sidling towards the door, his fingers holding onto the egg despite himself. 

The way his skin burned was eating through his patience faster than he would have liked, but he didn’t feel like explaining to them that he wasn’t mad, just in pain. It was something he had to learn to live with. Usually he was better at pasting on his nice happy go lucky bard persona, but for some reason the comforting presence of another dragon was eating through all of the walls he kept between himself and the world. 

Borch lazily flicked his tail around, gently pushing Jaskier back from the entrance while he rumbled out another laugh that sounded like boulders being crushed against each other. “You have clearly spent too much time with the humans, hatchling. Our little egg will be lucky to have you here to spoil them, now stop being ridiculous and make yourself at home. You have this afternoon to relax, then I am going to figure out what is wrong with your scent. It’s like ... like your inner fire is muted somehow.” 

The dragon lowered his head, pressing his golden snout against the top of Jaskier’s hair and sniffing deeply. The bard hissed, batting at him ineffectually. He hated the way Borch’s actions had a warm glow settling into his chest. The older dragon was being far too patient and caring, it was driving Jaskier insane. He was more used to monosyllabic grunts and things being thrown at him than people expressing their concern for his well being. 

“How rude! I smell delightful, thank you very much, and I pay enough for the oils and lotions to keep myself that way. I bloody have to, otherwise even Geralt would be able to smell that I was less than human. And I don’t want to hear about how I smell broken, I had more than enough of that when I was still with my mother, may she rot in hell.” He was glad he was holding the egg, it prevented him from clawing at his skin like he could expose his scales if he only scratched deep enough. 

Téa looked confused at the discussion, ignoring the way her sister was muttering under her breath as she arranged a pile of pillows for the egg. “And your mother never tried to figure out why you have a scent like this? She never tried to ensure that you were healthy and hale?” The poor woman seemed deeply upset by this. 

He knew that Zerrikanians considered dragons as spiritual beings. He had seen the deep respect they had for Borch and had started to extend to him as well. It was probably ruining her world view, to hear of a dragon, something that she knew of as a protector and source of powerful magic that had been used to create their homeland, had been such a horrific parent. He didn’t want to be responsible for exposing her to the harsher realities of draconid life, but her association with Borch showed that she was considered one of the best of her clan to be granted such an honour. She deserved to know the truth, to know that dragons were not perfect beings of magic. He had never claimed to be perfect (that was a lie, he had joked about it several times to keep his reputation as an egoistic bard going strong) and his mother sure as hell was not. He wished there was a nicer way to break it to her and her sister, but there was no way he could really avoid the conversation with Borch right there as a living lie detector. 

Jaskier shook his head, allowing Véa to ease the egg from his arms and place it on the small mountain of cushions she had created. He wrapped his arms around himself instead, trying to take comfort from it as the memories started to batter at him. “Oh, she tried. She thought it must have something to do with the way that I can’t shift or do anything terribly useful. I was lucky enough to have her try to help me, try to rip my draconid form out of me with her claws and starve me in the hopes that I would shift to try and save myself. My mother was really quite caring you see, everything she did was to help me to be less of an embarrassment and a waste of space. And when she finally gave up and decided that I was clearly broken beyond any hope of fixing, she kept me locked away with her hoard rather than getting rid of me like the trash that I was.” 

Both Zerrikanians hissed at that, dark eyes flashing with their anger and hands instinctively fluttering to their shoulders as if to draw their swords. Borch left out a rather impressive growl as well, smoke billowing from his maw. Jaskier smiled sadly. It wasn’t something to be upset over, he was free and he was never going back to that life. His new life as Jaskier the bard was full of all of the freedom and adventure that poor Julain Pankratz the broken dragon had never been able to experience, there was no use mourning for a life that was already dead to him. 

“That woman is a disgrace, hatchling,” Borch snarled, his tail lashing angrily and one of his front feet coming forward to encircle the bard protectively in his claws. “Of course her violence didn’t help anything, you are far too strong in spirit to ever give into her demands, no matter what torture she put you through. From the smell of you, I would guess that you have managed to repress your draconid side as a rejection of your mother and her violence. You have a kind soul, Jaskier, and would never want to become something like her, so it would make sense for you to suppress your instincts and throw up mental blocks to prevent yourself from shifting. Once you feel more comfortable here with the egg and myself, I doubt you will feel the need to keep your guard up so much and should be able to shift.” 

Jaskier blinked in shock, clambering up onto Borch’s claws so that he was closer to the dragon’s face. “Hang on, wait just a moment. Are you telling me that I might be able to ...” he gestured wildly at Borch’s wings and scales and other dragonly accoutrements. “No, no, no. I have spent years trying once I was free of that hell hole. Jaskier is a two legged dragon, and nothing is ever going to change that. It isn’t worth getting my hopes up just to have them dashed again. I have my freedom and the open road, I don’t need to get too greedy.” The last thing Jaskier needed was false hope. All he wanted was a place to sleep for a few days and wallow in the pain that he knew was creeping up on him. He could almost feel his wings shifting under the skin of his back. He knew it was only an illusion, his mind playing tricks on him, but the pain of his skin being stretched by a form that was so much larger than that he wore now 

Borch smiled gently, lifting his claws up to his face height with Jaskier standing atop them to consider him more closely. “You can feel it, can’t you hatchling? Your skin stretching over your true form, your wings desperate to emerge. Not to worry, we will find a way to help you out, to free you of this pain. Then you will be able to travel the world without fearing that the pain will overcome you at any moment. You will be able to follow that witcher you care so much about and explore the world knowing that you have the power of a dragon to keep you and those you love safe.” 

Jaskier brushed tears from his eyes, hope welling up inside him. The life Borch described sounded like a dream, something that Jaskier had refused to allow himself to imagine for years. To be able to be who he truly was, a bard and a dragon, sounded like a miracle from Melitele. 

“And when you go back out into the world, hatchling, you will know that you have a family that cares for you and is waiting for you to come back,” Borch rumbled, pressing his snout gently to the bar’s face. Jaskier choked back a sob, looking down to see Téa and Véa smiling proudly back up to him and nodding happily, Véa resting her hand gently on the top of the egg. How he had been lucky enough to find people so willing to help him and care for him. Maybe this is what he had been searching the Continent for, people who accepted him and wanted him to be happy and well. He would have to write the best song of all songs for them to show even a fraction of his appreciation for their kindness. 


	4. My skin peels off like paint

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier is not impressed with the way the others keep watching him.

Jaskier was so sick of the way that the three of them watched him. Jaskier spent most of his time singing gently to the egg, lounging on as mad and trying to compose something suitably scathing about that bloody mage and the stupid, oblivious witcher who couldn’t think with something other than his dick and was so easily decieved by any attention (and no Jaskier was not as pathetic as Geralt, he at least was aware that the object of his ridiculous pining was clearly not going to return his feelings, he wasn’t kidding himself that they would end up with a house in the countryside with a nice stable for Roach, as miraculous as that sounded.) 

Borch had made a few comments about songs about harlots and ripping someone’s heart out through their genitals was probably not appropriate for an unhatched dragon, but Jaskier preferred to think of it as preparing the little dear one for the dangers of the world. Besides, it took his mind off of the fact that Borch kept sniffing at him, Véa kept trying to surprise him like she could shock the dragon out of him, and Téa preferred to spend her time finding shiny things to parade in front of him like his hoarding instinct would kick start the change. It was ridiculous and no more effective than the way that his mother tried to tear his skin open to let his scales free. 

“For the love of Melitele,” Jaskier cursed when Téa shoved the fifth shiny golden goblet of the day in front of him so that his hands slipped on the lute strings. “I cannot shift people, get this through your heads. I am the broken defective dragon, take a good long look and then leave me alone!” 

Borch snorted, coming over to take another sniff of the bard’s hair and get hit with the lute in retaliation. “Calm yourself, hatchling, there is no call for you to be so worked up. Your scent is getting clearer and clearer each day, I would hazard a guess that you will be running around on four paws within the week with the way you are going.” 

Jaskier scoffed, glaring at the excited looks the two warrior women shared with each other. There was no way in hell he would be able to shift; Borch was a crazy old man that was losing his mind and Jaskier shifting was clearly just a part of his delusion. 

“Listen to Villentretenmerth, young one. He has seen many years, he will be able to help you to shift. In the meantime, you are hovering over that egg like a broody hen, you can leave it alone for a few moments,” Véa teased, poking at Jaskier with the end of her sword. When he snapped his teeth at her in response, she laughed and continued to poke at him, her sister joining in. The two women were much more carefree and casual than he would have expected, clearly comfortable with Borch and other dragons in a way he had never seen humans before. 

“You two hags would have this poor egg languishing away in the dirt. I am the only one here taking care of this darling like the princess that it is,” he whinged dramatically, cackling at the way both women pulled a face at his drama. He had quickly found ways to wind them up and took great delight in making them mad enough to chase him around the cave with their swords until Borch stepped in, it was something that he had done with Geralt many times with the witcher retaliating by feeding anything sweet that they had to Roach in front of him with a little smirk on his face. 

Borch heaved a sigh before the three of them could really get into it. “Settle down. I thought I had two Zerrikanian warriors here helping me to care for these hatchlings, not three unruly children to corral. Jaskier, you have been a great help in caring for the egg, but you are allowed to leave it unattended for longer than it takes to use the facilities. Now ignoring the fact that the burning feeling in your skin is getting worse and your wings are moving more under your skin. It has reached the point where we can see your draconid form shifting under your skin, it will not be much longer now.” 

Jaskier whimpered softly, reaching a hand behind him to trace over the skin of his back. The idea that there was something moving under his skin like some kind of parasite. He had horrific images floating through his head of something black and bug-like bursting through his skin to rampage throughout the world until some witcher killed it. His vivid imagination was a curse at moments like this, it really was. 

Téa and Véa both reached out to rest a hand on his shoulder comfortingly. “It is the natural way of things, Jaskier, nothing to fear. We have been honoured to watch several young dragons experience their first shift in our time following Villentretenmerth, none of them have come to any harm with him guiding them,” Véa said reassuringly. 

Jaskier settled under the attention, trying to ignore the way that his skin shuddered under their touch and felt like it was burning. At this point, he would be excited if he could shift just to get rid of the awful feeling of his skin being too small for his body. It was driving him insane, he had even flubbed a few lines when he was singing to the egg earlier. He was terrified that this would somehow ruin his ability to play, take away his steady hands and his ability to make music and who was he? Just a broken waste of a dragon and a bard, someone that no one would ever love. 

“Jaskier,” Broch rumbled, a small flicker of fire darting from his mouth and gently caressing Jaskier’s face with its warmth. “Stop with whatever mauldin thoughts you have running through that mind of yours. You are a dragon, moping is beneath you.” 

“Easy for you to say,” Jaskier huffed, turning his face away from Borch’s golden gaze. “If this change breaks me, if it takes away my ability to perform, then that’s just one more way that I'm a screw up like my mother always told me. Being a bard is the one thing I have in this life that I have earnt with my own sweat and blood, something that I worked and sacrificed for and used to build my life from the ground up. I refuse to allow becoming an overgrown lizard to take that away from me.” He was panting with emotion by the time he finished speaking, trying to hide the way that his eyes misted up. 

“Oh, little one,” Borch rumled, rubbing his head against Jaskier’s chest like an overgrown scaly housecat. “You have nothing to be afraid of. You will always have the gift to make music, no matter what form you take. Besides, you have worth beyond your ability to entertain. You are a loyal and caring friend, someone that people would be proud to have beside them in a difficult situation. And you are the person who will make sure that this egg knows that it is loved, despite what happened to its mother, and that it sees the world with the same wonder and joy that you do.” 

Jaskier blushed, looking away quickly. He had a quick retort ready on his lips, but it was choked out of his mouth by a groan of pain as he felt wings shifting beneath his skin again. It felt like it was about to rip through his skin, doubling him over in pain. He could hear Téa and Véa crying out in alarm, Borch saying something to them with a voice like thunder, but Jaskier was in a world of fire and pain. It ripped through his body in waves, something he couldn’t fight against but could only allow to flow through his body. 

Weakly, he rolled away from the egg, not wanting to damage it as he felt his body begin to spasm with the pain. He felt gentle claws lift him, carrying him outside of the cave so that the air felt like rivers of lava against his tender skin. He lost the fight to keep his screams contained, feeling them rip from his throat and tear at his vocal cords. Gods, he had hoped that even when his body seemed to be determined to tear itself into tiny pieces that his voice would at least be left alone, but it seemed that he was unable to have anything go right for him. 

Jaskier could hear Téa and Véa hovering around him, not getting close enough for his flailing limbs to hit them but offering their support nonetheless. Borch was rumbling platitudes to try and reassure Jaskier, but the waves of pain were rising higher and higher as he felt his skin splitting and blood pouring down his sides. There was no way he could focus on Borch’s voice or the comforting words he used, there was nothing but pain in his world and it felt like there would never be anything else. As his skin tore open, whatever was exposed beneath it screamed out in agony at the brutal touch of the air, tearing more screams from Jaskier as he writhed on the rocks. 

He felt the shimmer of magic in the air as it raked over his exposed wounds before Borch was in his human form and kneeling beside Jaskier, holding his arms with supernatural strength to stop the bard from clawing at himself in an attempt to free himself from the pain. “Come on, Julian, not much longer now. Fight through this, you are stronger than you think.” 

Jaskier hissed in pain, gritting his teeth as he tried to let it wash through him rather than consume him. Something in his back made a horrific cracking noise and shifted in a way that had the younger dragon feeling sick. There was a horrific wet flopping noise as what must have been his wings hit the dirt, but Jaskier was too consumed with the feeling of his bones seeming to break and shatter as magic pulsed through him like a wildfire. He let out one more guttural scream before he collapsed, the world fading to darkness as agony engulfed him. 


	5. Unfurl my wings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier has some scaly fun.

When Jaskier woke, the world seemed all wrong. The faces of the warrior women were so much bigger than they should have been and there was a weird glow emanating from various things around the room. He whimpered, trying to raise a hand to his head to ease the headache he felt and recoiled in horror when his hand turned out to a golden paw with long, sharp claws on the end of it. His scream of terror came out as a rather shrill squeak, something that almost snapped Jaskier out of his panic with its ridiculousness. 

“Oh good, you’re awake. How do you feel, hatchling?” Borch wandered into view, still wearing his human form but looking much larger than he usually did. What in the name of all of the gods was going on here? 

Jaskier tried to tell him that he had no idea what was going on, that he was waiting for someone to explain it to him, but all that came out of his mouth were a series of chirping growls. He stopped mid rant, his mouth dropping open in shock, before starting up again, indignant that he had to go through all of that pain to be the tiniest, most intimidating dragon in the history of ever. 

Véa laughed, leaning over and picking Jaskier up like he was an overgrown housecat. He snarled and snapped at her, but she merely pushed his head to the side and started scratching gently at a point behind what he assumed were his horns. Jaskier’s grumbles of complaint turned into a rumbling purr which vibrated through his entire body. He had no way to stop it, his eyes rolling in his head in bliss at the sensation. 

“Calm yourself, Julian. You are still young for a dragon, it will take many decades before you reach the size of Villentretenmerth. It will even take a while before you are able to shift back into your human form or form words, you need to give the magic in your system a chance to settle into your new form before you expect it to do as you will it to.” 

Jaksier tried to hiss in complaint, but he was far too relaxed from the magic she was working with her fingers. With another laugh, she released him, setting him down onto his paws and holding him still for a moment while he figured out how to balance on four legs rather than two. It was disconcerting, his weight being distributed so differently, and he flailed with his tail in an attempt to keep himself upright. Once he thought he figured it out, he gently nudged at Véa’s hands to get her to let go before taking a few shaky steps towards Borch.

He chirped inquisitively at the older dragon, looking at him with wide eyes. The man chuckled, kneeling down to Jaskier’s level and allowing the young dragon to scramble onto his lap and place his front paws on the man’s shoulders so that he could look him in the eye. 

“You’re fine, Jaskier, you did marvellously. It will take some time for you to adjust, but you should be able to resume your human form not long after the egg hatches. Until then, you will have to trust the three of us to help guide you and keep you safe. Unfortunately for you, you are still the size of a newborn hatchling. It seems that your repression of your draconid side has limited your growth so far, but you smell healthy enough and should grow as usual.” 

Jaskier chittered in annoyance. It seemed like even now that he could shift, he still wasn’t able to be a proper dragon. Trust his luck to end up as the tiniest dragon in all of existence. He huffed one more time in annoyance, blowing a quick gust of smoke into Borch’s face, before darting off of him and managing to coordinate all four of his legs enough to get back to the egg. 

At this size, the egg was slightly larger than him and he could see a shadowy shape shifting behind the thin shell. Heat seemed to emanate from it, and he quickly curled up around it. For some reason, he felt slightly more settled with the egg this close, as if the egg was soothing him as much as he did it. The Zerrikanians laughed at his antics, Véa grabbing some cushions to make him more comfortable as a strange rumbling purr started to reverberate from his chest. He squeaked in confusion before mentally shrugging and accepting that this was his life now. 

He could hear Borch talking with the two women, something about getting Jaskier used to his new form and how adorable he looked with his golden scales. That made him pause. His mother had been a red dragon, as had the rest of the family. How the hell had he ended up with the gloriously shining golden scales that he had decorating his skin? 

Not that he was complaining, from what he could see, he was far more impressive and majestic, and all the other adjectives he could think of than his mother had ever been. Her scales had always reminded him of blood, the deep claret colour that had laced his skin more often than not in her presence and made him hope so desperately that he would never be like her. At least this way he felt completely different to his family, a visual reminder that he would never be as depraved or cruel as them. Golden scales, yes, they were much more appropriate for a rather flamboyant bard like himself, and if they somehow linked him to the only dragon with any sense of honor that he had ever met, then that could only be a good thing. 

* * *

Jaskier took a few days to figure out how to make his new body work properly. Borch had assured him that it would take weeks before his wings were strong enough to fly, but that hadn’t stopped Jaskier from trying. Whenever he had a chance (and no one was keeping a close eye on him to make sure he didn’t get up to mischief) he had taken to finding places with enough height that he could try jumping off of them and catching some air under his wings. If he was going to be a bloody dragon, he was at least going to have the advantage of flying. More times than not, it ended in the two Zerrikanians giving him a panicked lecture when he ended up in a crumpled mess on the floor while Borch muttered about being too old to deal with hatchlings with no brain, but that wasn’t stopping Jaskier. He was determined to be able to fly before the egg hatched, he had to be able to teach it something after all and he wasn’t doing too well at any of the other dragonly traits. 

He had tried breathing fire and only made himself cough on all of the smoke he made. He wasn’t able to use any kind of magic yet, his magical core apparently still needing some time to recharge after his first shift. Borch reassured him that there was nothing wrong with him, that this was the way all hatchlings progressed on their first shift, but Jaskier was not impressed. Whenever Broch tried to reassure him, he chittered angrily and hopped around like a scalded cat. It made Téa and Véa laugh at him until he decided to use them as climbing frames, digging his little claws into them in retaliation and chirping in delight when they chased him around the cave. 

He found himself acting ridiculously childlike for some reason, not quite able to help himself from finding ways to cause mischief. He had taken to scrambling up into dark corners and then launching himself onto people, letting out his (rather high-pitched but still ferocious) roar of triumph as he attacked from above. His favourite target was Borch, particularly when the older man was in his dragon form and he could attack that tail that just seemed so damned enticing. He had managed to get hold of it a few times, crying out victoriously and trying to get his jaws around it and savage it. Borch rumbled in delight each time Jaskier successfully managed to get hold of his prey, making a show of lashing his tail about so that the younger dragon screeched in delight and redoubled his efforts. 

Borch mentioned something about Jaksier being a natural hunter and having perfect instincts, but Jaskier was generally too busy trying to attack his tail to pay too much attention to him. His attention span was even worse than it usually was. He flitted from task to task and the only thing that could keep his attention was the egg. He spent long hours curled around it, trying to croon out some of his songs through his draconid vocal cords and being pleased with the way it came out as a rumbling musical tone. He was rather intrigued with this new sound and spent a long time trying to figure out how he could use it to his advantage, mentally composing new songs to match this new voice. 

The egg seemed to enjoy it at least, the shadowy shape inside it almost dancing around to the tune of his songs. Being the consummate performer that he was, Jaskier took the egg’s excitement for encouragement and just sang more, making up lullabies and songs about all the wonders of the world to try and encourage the egg to hatch. It didn’t matter that he couldn’t form words currently, or that Borch kept telling him that the egg would hatch when it was ready and not a moment before no matter how much he sang to it, Jaskier was convinced that he was helping and was determined to make sure that this egg only saw the best in the world. 

Besides, singing helped to distract him from the way a certain pair of golden eyes kept haunting him. He knew that sooner or later he would have to face the witcher, his witcher, again, but he wasn’t exactly looking forward to trying to explain where he had been. Knowing Geralt as he did, the man had probably stormed off of the mountain in a huff, drunk himself stupid for a few days before realising that he had once again lashed out and pretended to be the monster everyone else always called him, before resigning himself to apologising to the bard the next time he saw him. 

They had been through this song and dance before, Geralt making an ass of himself and Jaskier putting the pieces back together, but the younger dragon didn’t know how they were going to resolve this with the whole scaly thing getting in the way. Yes, Geralt had been his usual honourable self when it came to Borch being a dragon, but Borch hadn’t been pretending to be human for the last few decades and keeping his ... rather tumultuous past from the man that he claimed was his best friend. There was no way that Jaskier could think of spinning it that didn’t make him seem like an absolute jerk and a hypocrite to boot. 

Once the egg had hatched and Jaskier had learnt how to control his magic a little more, then he would have to toughen up and face the man he called his best friend, he decided. He refused to hide from him forever, Geralt was the best friend he had ever had and there was no way he was turning his back on decades of friendship. He would have to convince him that he had never meant any harm with his lies. How the hell he was going to do that when the whole world had been lying to Geralt and telling him that he was something he wasn’t, he had no idea, but there was no way he was letting Geralt think that Jaskier was going to treat him like everyone else did. 

But for now, he was going to enjoy his time with Borch, the Zerrikanians, and his darling egg. He would make sure that this egg had the best start to life that it could and figure out this dragon thing at the same time before going to find his friend. Then, he would finally be able to tell Geralt who he really was and put it all behind him. 


	6. Awake awake you children bold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier gets excited.

It takes three weeks for the egg to hatch. In those three weeks Jaskier got a better handle on being a dragon. He managed to breathe fire (accidentally lighting Téa’s braid alight but that’s not his fault when she was flicking it in his face) and even glide a little bit with his wings when he jumped from Borch’s head in his draconid form. He even started to get a feel for his magic, his telepathy starting to kick in when he really focuses. That’s probably the most exciting part for him, finally being able to communicate with someone else in something more than grunts and growls. It takes a lot out of him, but it does mean that he can pester all three of them with his endless chatter and ask about a billion questions about being a dragon and the egg and anything else he can think of. 

It didn’t help that when he had figured out that the weird glowing things that Borch had tucked around the place were various magical artefacts that the older dragon refused to allow him to investigate. It wasn’t fair to treat him like a child, no matter how ridiculous he acted. When he had tried to exercise his skills at sneaking and look anyway he had ended up with Borch pinning him into place with his tail and lecturing him for what felt like hours, so he quickly gave up and went back to seeing what other trouble he could get himself into. 

He had been supremely proud of his new prowess in dragonness, ignoring the way that Borch told him he had a long way to go before he was able to get back out into the world without immediately being suspicious. He was far too proud of the way he was finally becoming something he had always imagined, something that he had been told time and time again that he was far too broken to be. 

It also meant that when he heard a light scratching noise from inside the shell he was able to barrel out of the cave and jump onto Véa, screaming at the top of his mental lungs that the egg was hatching until he gave himself a headache. She laughed at his enthusiasm before calling her sister and Borch, carrying Jaskier inside when he kept clambering all over her and chattering in his excitement. 

Borch grumbled as he came in, large golden claws kicking up dust as he complained about over excited hatchlings. Jaskier ignored him, launching himself from Véa’s arms to curl around the egg and croon to it, tapping his nose against the point where he heard the little darling trying to break free. 

“Stop fussing, Jaksier, the egg will be fine. Give it some breathing room and then you can be over excited once it hatches,” Borch said , flicking gently at him with a claw that was nearly as big as he was. Jaskier snarled, a small tongue of flame wrapping around the claw in annoyance, before going back to the egg. This was ridiculously exciting and he was missing none of it. He had never seen another egg hatch, his mother keeping him far away from any other dragons like the failure she called him, and he would not miss this one for the world. 

Any rebuttal that Borch would give to Jaskier’s sass was forgotten when a little golden nose poked through the shell. Jaskier was cooing in delight almost immediately, transfixed by the sight of the softest looking scales he had ever seen pushing through the cracks in the shell to reveal a delicately arched face with liquid dark eyes. When the hatchling opened its mouth to give a small shriek of displeasure at the shell still sticking onto it, Jaksier felt his heart melt in his chest. He kept making encouraging noises, feeling ridiculously proud as the baby managed to push its way from the rest of the egg to flop onto the cushions around it. 

Jaskier turned to Borch, beaming with pride at the little darling, and was subjected to an affectionate shove from the older dragon’s head which almost sent Jaskier flying. “Thank you, Jaskier, for taking such fine care of my daughter, my little Saesenthessis.” 

Jaskier puffed a happy stream of smoke at him before turning back to the new hatchling. “Saesenthessis,” he said, his voice soft as he projected it to all of them. “A beautiful name, but a bit of a mouthful. I’m thinking we call her Saskia for short, something sweet and beautiful for a beautiful girl.” 

Borch rumbled in agreement, nosing at both of the younger dragons and baring his teeth in a smile when they both squawked in protest. “Now I will have to deal with two hatchlings getting underfoot and causing trouble. Ladies, I fear I shall need your help more than ever,” he joked. 

The Zerrikanians laughed, both looking rather awestruck at having witnessed the hatching of a new dragon. “Welcome to the world, Saesenthessis,” Téa said softly, reaching down to rub gently at her head and scratch behind her ears in the way that Jaskier knew felt like absolute heaven. 

“It will be an honour to serve you,” Véa added, kneeling beside the younger dragons and reaching out to join her sister in pampering the hatchling. Saskia chirped in delight, a purr starting up in her chest. Her eyes were half closed, both with pleasure at the fussing and exhaustion from breaking free of her egg. 

Jaskier bounced around the pillows in excitement, lashing his tail in the air and chirping at Borch in delight when the older dragon gently picked him up in his jaws to keep him still for a moment. Between the four of them, little Saskia was going to be the most spoilt, well protected little lady in the Continent. Jaskier would personally ensure that she got to see just how wondrous this world was. 

* * *

Life with Saskia round was definitely exciting. Jaskier spent a lot of time following her around, making sure that she didn’t get up to any trouble. He had taken on the mantle of big brother and was doing his best to live up to it, delightedly showing Saskia all the best places to hide from the others when they wanted them to focus on something and how best to launch surprise attacks on them from the shadows. 

He sung to her at night as well, working on a song for her that he could sing across the Continent without getting any of them in trouble. He had the melody down, but he needed to make sure that he had the words perfect before he could take it on the circuit. 

He frequently worried about what all the time away from the world was doing to his reputation as a bard as well. It had been months now without an opportunity for him to perform in front of someone who did not live in this cave and Jaskier was itching to get out there and see people light up at his work. He worried that he would be forgotten, that his songs would fade into obscurity without him there to keep them in the limelight, or even worse, that some two-bit hack like that asshole Valdo Marx would start to claim his songs for his own. This obscurity was death for a bard like him and he was trying to chafe under the restrictions. 

He knew it was for the best, he did. It wouldn’t exactly do for the famous bard Jaskier to be identified as a dragon, let alone a golden one. He couldn’t put all the others at risk like that, but he just wasn’t handling the captivity well. 

It had resulted in Jaskier slinking out of the cave every now and then when Saskia was napping. He had managed to learn how to fly short distances by now, so he tended to find himself a nice perch in one of the mountain walls where he could brood to his heart’s content. Borch had said it would be a while longer before he would be able to shift back into his human form, and then there would still be some time before he would have enough control to be able to go out among all the humans without risking discovery. 

He knew that the others were worried, that they could see the melancholy that seemed to settle over him like a cloud at times no matter how much he tried to stay the happy go lucky rogue he was known to be. He couldn’t help it, he missed the road, missed joining Geralt on his Path and seeing all the wonders of the world while performing for audiences all across the Continent. 

It wasn’t that he wasn’t grateful. He knew just how much Borch had done for him. For once in his life he didn’t feel like clawing his skin open every second of the day. He had never been more at peace with himself and his nature, but it wasn’t enough. He was starting to feel like one of the birds he had seen in some noble’s house, a beautiful thing languishing away in the cage it was kept in. That bird had stuck in his mind, especially after watching the noble rant and rave that he had wasted his money on it since it wouldn’t even sing for him anymore. 

Jaskier needed to leave, to be free to wander and roam wherever his whims took him. He just hoped that when he finally convinced Borch to give him a bit more freedom, the man didn’t kick up a fuss. He refused to admit that his need to travel, his need for freedom, was most likely deeply rooted in a childhood kept as a possession by a rather sadistic mother, mainly because if he let himself go down that path he was liable to run screaming from the cave and fall down the mountainside. 

But for now Jaskier needed to learn to content himself with this domestic life. Saskia was his main source of comfort and he was utterly devoted to her. He knows that the pair of them are driving Borch spare, especially when they manage to rope the two women into their ridiculous plans, but honestly, Saskia is just too much fun. She is also the perfect size to sit on his back, so he frequently ferries her around the cave, prancing about and getting underfoot while she laughs uproariously. She seemed to love her adopted big brother, calling him Julek and constantly badgering him to tell her stories about all of his adventures. She had even made Jaskier well us with tears when she told him that one day she would travel the Continent and find her very own witcher just like he had. 

Curled up in front of the fire in their cave, nestled in the curve of Borch’s spine with Saskia lying on top of him as well in a big pile of golden scales, Jaskier could almost be content. He knew that he should be happy here, that this should be everything that he had ever asked for, but he couldn’t help his wanderer’s heart. As much as he loved them all, he would need to leave soon, or he would end up like that bird, hiding in the bottom of its cage and wasting away while it dreamed of the sun. 

“Borch,” he said quietly, not wanting to disturb Saskia where she was snoring gently on his back. “Can I ask you something?” 

The older dragon made a strange sound in his chest like rocks rubbing against each other, sending his back vibrating with the hatchlings bouncing along on top of him. Saskia made a small sleepy noise and then snuggled back down on Jaskier further. “Of course, I was wondering when this would happen, little one.” 

Jaskier blew smoke from his nostrils, watching it curl lazily in the air while he tried to get the phrasing right in his head. “It’s not that I don't love this, love the way that I finally get to experience what it means to be part of a proper family and all this time I get to spend with you and Saskia and the girls,” here he looked fondly down at the two women who were curled up in the safe space between Borch’s front claws. “But I am going insane here, literally losing my mind. I am a wanderer, a travelling bard, and I need to, well, to travel. I know that I can’t go out among the humans just yet, but even just going for a nice long fly or something, anything to get me out and about before I lose my mind and take you all down with me. Please, Borch, I am not above begging here.” 

Borch was quiet for a moment, long enough that Jaskier felt the desperate words welling up again to ramble from him, but when the dragon did speak his voice was thoughtful. “I can see that you need more space, more opportunity to roam. You are in a rather unique situation, little one. You have lived independently for long enough to have the mind of an adult, but your draconid form is only that of a child. I suppose I have been smothering you a small bit. You shall have your freedom, little Julian. I would hate to see you lose that fire you have. Fly further, hatchling, take a few days to explore and see what you can of the world without being seen. If we do not see you after three nights have passed, I shall leave my weapons here to look after Saskia, we both know that she has them wrapped around her little claw but they will keep her safe nonetheless, and come looking for you. I am sure we would both rather avoid that fate, so take care of yourself, hmm?” 

Borch turned his neck to face Jaskier as he spoke, nudging the smaller dragon’s face with his own golden snout. Jaskier bared his teeth in a grin, rubbing his face along Borch’s like the cat Téa had started calling him. Borch grumbled affectionately, indulging Jaskier for a moment before turning and resting his head back on the floor. The young dragon tried to restrain the urge to dance around in glee, not wanting to wake Saskia, and tried to settle in to sleep. 

Tomorrow he would be able to explore, to stretch his wings and see more of the world than this bloody cave and the cliffs it was set into. If he was lucky, he could even get as far as the Yaruga, as long as he was sensible and avoided any humans. He hadn’t been down this way too often, travelling with Geralt had kept him much further west the majority of the time. It may even help him to compose a new song or two. He couldn’t wait. 


	7. I breathe not now, not now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier goes exploring.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am changing the tags with this, as it will be getting a bit darker and there will be some rather unpleasant things happening. I won't be putting warnings at the top of every chapter, so use your discretion. Apologies!

Borch had fussed over Jaskier like a mother hen before he set out, checking over a dozen times that he was feeling alright, that his wings felt strong, that he was sure he would be able to find food to eat on his journey. Jaskier had taken it well, patiently answering all of his questions and trying his best not to vibrate right out of his skin with excitement when Saskia was moping around the cave and protesting that she should be allowed to come with him. He had managed to placate her with promises of bringing her back something special from his travels. 

Téa and Véa were also rather concerned about him, each of them insisting about a hundred times over that one of them could accompany him without being in the way. It was only Borch’s insistence that he may need them both to look after Saskia if he had to go and drag Jaskier out of whatever mess he got into that kept them from following him with or without his permission. 

Jaskier grinned to himself, enjoying the feeling of the air under his wings and the breeze in his face. Soaring through the mountains, enjoying the way the sun bounced off of the red hued rock to create a fiery splendour, Jaksier couldn’t contain himself from roaring out his pleasure, his voice starting to loose the high pitched squeak and gaining the kind of depth he so desperately wanted. The only thing that could make this better would be a companion to share it all with, and when Saskia was a little older he would be able to take her out like this as well. 

He had spent most of the morning gliding around the peaks of the mountains, heading slowly northwest in the hopes that he would come out of them soon. Mountains were all well and good, sure, but he did have a longing for greenery. He knew that most dragons preferred to be able to hide in the canyons and caves of the mountains, but Jaskier had always been odd, had always been drawn to the picturesque rather than the practical, and he wanted back out into the world that had given him his freedom. If there was a small part of him that hoped that he might find a particular white haired man further east than he had ever seen him, well, Jaksier was a master at lying to himself and he refused to acknowledge just how needy he was. 

If he managed to keep up this pace, he should be able to reach the edge of the mountains by nightfall. He could shelter in a cave for the night and then explore the area around the Yaruga for a day before heading back to his new family. He grinned to himself, trying to think of a good metaphor to describe the way the sun was framed by the sides of the mountains as he caught an updraft, chirping in delight at the warmth of the wind on the thin skin of his wings. Just because he could, he did a few flips in the air, delighting in his freedom and bellowing out his enjoyment, laughing as it echoed back to him off of the canyon walls. 

This was what he had been missing, this feeling of freedom and the lure of the unknown. To not know what was around the next bend, what he would find next, this was what kept Jaskier going, kept him enjoying every moment of his life. 

He was so caught up in the wonders of flying, too busy trying to think of ways to describe this all to Saskia when he got back, that he didn't see the arrow come flying out of one of the dark caves in the side of the hills, only felt the white hot pain of it as it ripped through one of his wings and sent him careening back down towards the rocky ground. He screamed out his pain, desperately trying to break his fall with his good wing but unable to stop himself from smacking into the same rock he had been admiring just seconds ago.

He bounced down the mountain a little, whimpering as he hit the rocks each time, before coming to a crumpled heap on a small outcropping, his sides heaving with pain. He lifted his head, forcing himself to look at his wing and assess the damage. The arrow had passed straight through him, thank all the gods, but it had left a ragged tear that was oozing an alarming amount of blood. He hissed in pain, looking around wildly to try and find the source of the arrow. It didn’t take long, some men barrelling down the mountainside whooping in delight. 

They seemed to be the kinds of brigands that Geralt had dealt with many times before. Clothes ripped and clearly stolen, weapons looking rather makeshift and well used, it was clear that they were used to living a rather rough life. He could hear them celebrating, joking about how much ale and finery they could buy with the price of a dragon, trying to decide which stupid noble would pay the most for such a rarity. Fuck, life as a pet was not something that Jaskier was willing to tolerate, this day just got worse and fucking worse. 

They didn’t seem too perturbed by his weak spits of fire or growls, quickly grabbing him around the shoulders and stuffing a bag over his head before he could snap at them. He tried to lash out at them with his claws, but found his legs quickly bound up with something before he was quickly tossed over what felt like a shoulder and carried off. 

He kept screaming out his distress, cursing himself for being a bloody idiot and insisting that he did not need supervision on his first flight from the cave. This was exactly his bloody luck. It would be days before Borch would come looking for him, and if it rained or anything then his scent would be washed away rather quickly. He was so fucking screwed, how the hell was he meant to get out of this shit? 

* * *

It took them days to take him wherever the hell they had decided to sell him. Days spent shoved into a small cage they had that seemed to be attached to the side of a horse, days with a fucking bag over his head and a stupid dimeritium shackle that they had attatched to his front right leg. They had already threatened him, said that if he tried anything stupid they would rip the other wing open, and he had subsided in the cage, trying to keep up his strength so that when they finally slipped up he would be able to escape these assholes and get back to the mountains. 

  
  


He had made all sorts of promises to any gods that would listen, that he would stay in those mountains, that he would stop getting into trouble with any attractive man or woman that would have him, that he would sing as many songs in praise of whatever let him out of this awful situation as possible, but nothing seemed to be happening. At this point he would even take the indignity of being saved by Geralt, awkward confessions of being a dragon and all included, if it meant getting out of this shitty cage and away from the assholes that treated him like a fucking animal. 

They hadn’t even bothered to feed him, saying something about him looking well fed enough that a few days without wouldn’t damage him to the point that he wouldn’t earn them a pretty coin while also making him easier to keep under control. One of them in particular, a rather disgustingly dirty individual that seemed to be the leader of the group and Jaskier had dubbed Stinky, kept telling Jaskier just how much money he would make for them once he was sold to some idiot royal that wanted to show off his wealth. Apparently there was quite a market for exotic pets and these fine men had found a way to fill the gap. He bragged about the sirens and godlings that they had sold to the wealthy, ornaments for them to parade in front of their guests and delight their subjects with. 

The stories made Jaskier want to scream, the awful life of a caged beast seeming to roll out endlessly before him. He had made the mistake of snapping at the man through the cloth over his head only once, desperate to make him stop with all of the stories, and had gotten a smack around the head for it that had had him vomiting and moaning piteously at the all consuming pain. He had to get out of here, he couldn’t live that kind of life. It would kill him inside slowly. 

Jaskier just needed to be patient, to bide his time and find the right moment to escape. He would play the stupid pet, allow them to sell him for a pretty song and treat him like some dumb beast, but he would never let them break him. He was still growing, surely he would be able to break free at some point, especially if he got too big for the shackle that seemed to be keeping his magic at bay. 

He kept reminding himself that Borch would be looking for him now. It was well past the time that Jaskier had said he would return, the older dragon must have set out to try and find him. The only issue was that the Fiery Mountains were a rather large area and Jaskier, being the idiotic shit that he is, had refused to even hint as to where he was going, not wanting to risk anyone following him on his little adventure. He was such a fucking idiot, but how was he to know that there were psychos out here waiting to kidnap him to sell him to the highest bidder? Maybe he should have been a little more careful, but really, he had never thought that he would end up as part of the gods damned exotic pet trade! 

It didn’t help when they finally reached the Yaruga, judging by the sounds of flowing water and the clear scent of the river, and the assholes that had taken him boarded a boat. They stowed him somewhere below the deck based on the lower levels of light passing through the bag over his eyes, and he moaned to himself in dismay. This would ruin any chance of their being a trail for Borch to follow. He would be hidden from sight, his scent overpowered by the water and the close confines with so many men who seemed completely accustomed to taking care of their personal hygiene, and when he made a noise louder than a whisper he tended to get smacked around by people yelling at him to shut up. None of this was working out in his favour, and the lack of food was starting to get to him. 

Jaskier whimpered when he heard someone approaching the place his cage had been stashed, trying to resist the urge to huddle back into the corner like the terrified animal he resembled. He had to keep reminding himself that he was more than just the animal instincts that kept trying to take over, he had a man’s intelligence, a highly educated man at that, and he would use every part of it to make sure he made it out of here safely. 

The cage opened and a rough hand grabbed him around the front leg, pulling him out of the cage. “No funny business, lizard, or I’ll make you regret it,” a rough voice snarled. The hood was pulled off of his face and he blinked frantically, his head hurting at the sudden influx of light even in the bowels of the ship. 

Jaskier bared his teeth, flinching back when the man raised a fist warningly. “There we go, we understand each other now, don’t we, lizard? I even have a nice treat for you before you go back in your cage, and you are going to fucking eat it.” 

A lump of meat was shoved in Jaskier’s face, the scent alone making him recoil. He couldn’t identify what kind of animal it had come from, all he knew was that he really did not want to be eating any part of it. 

When it was shoved threateningly in his face again, he knew that he did not really have any choice. It was either eat the seriously questionable meat, or have it shoved down his throat until he choked on it. With a wince, Jaskier took a dainty bite from the side of it and tried not to gag at the awful taste. It was like they had soaked it in something that tasted like a mixture between piss and what he imagined some of Geralt’s potions tasted like based on the faces he pulled when he drank them. He tried to pull back after forcing that bite down, but had the chunk of meat smashed against his face again. Looks like he was eating it all then. Goodie for him. 

Jaskier managed to get through the food without vomiting it all back up, trying to convince himself that he would need as much strength as possible to escape from these assholes. As he swallowed the last piece, the fucking bag was crammed back onto his head and he was shoved back into his cage. He snarled weakly, feeling his stomach rebel at the sudden motion after such disgusting food and trying desperately not to fill the bag over his head with the contents of his stomach. 

“You have a nice little nap now, lizard. By the time you wake up, you should be off to your new owners and out of my hair. Thank the gods for that too, getting the drugs to keep you compliant costs a fair few coppers. But hey, the pay out when we get you to market should make it worth it, whether you wake up again or not.” 

Jaskier tried to hiss at the man, but between the roiling in his stomach and the way his head was pounding, he could barely lift his head. The fuck did he mean about not waking up again? What the hell did he give him? He couldn’t even muster up the energy to panic about it all properly, his eyes shutting without his permission and the world fading to black with the rocking of the boat and the churning of his stomach. 


	8. When you scream that it’s not fair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier is in some trouble.

There were strange noises all around him, voices that he had never heard before, something tapping against metal, sounds that reminded Jaskier horribly of a feast. He groaned, cracking his eyes open and peering around him. The gods damned hood was gone, thank Melitele, but now he seemed to be a slightly larger cage in the middle of a great hall. 

He paused a moment in his perusal of the space to vomit noisily onto the floor, whimpering as he quickly ran out of food to vomit up and was left heaving up bile in a disgusting mess. It seemed to get him some attention, the tapping sound revealing itself to be a middle aged man thunking a horrifically ornate cane against the side of his cage. 

“Well, well, look who has decided to wake up. It appears you are worth the coin I paid for you, my pet, you will be much more interesting awake than if I had to have you stuffed.” The man had the rather forced accents of a Toussaintois, if not the appetite for over the top elegance to the point of absurdity, and that was saying something from a bard who had been accused of being a fop on many occasions. 

Jaskier lifted his head, baring his teeth in anger and then screaming when it felt like his neck was being engulfed in flames. He swore he could feel the skin being burnt away from the muscle, but when he twisted frantically to look for the source of the pain all he could see was an awful looking golden collar studded with fake looking rubies and diamonds. 

“Ah yes, I see that you have noticed your finery. We would not want you to do anything that you may ... regret, would we, my pet? It would not do to have you injuring my guests, not at all. It cost me a fair few florens to get some uppity witch to craft this for me, but she assured me that it would serve its purpose well.” The man twirled several gaudy rings on his fingers as he spoke, the ridiculous levels of opulence making Jaskier feel even more confined in his cage. 

The dragon panted as the pain slowly dissipated, shooting daggers at his jailor with his eyes. 

The man laughed, “Oh, don’t look so put out, pet. You should be thankful, there were some unsavoury individuals at the auction, I am sure you would have ended up in squalor with pigs that would not appreciate such a rare gift. Here, you will be treated like the gem that you are, admired and adored by all of my guests. You shall be the pièce de résistance of my collection, something that will make even the Duchess in all of her feigned dignity feel like the child playing dress up that she is.” 

Fantastic! He was being held captive by an absolute egomaniac. This could not go any better. He was a fucking person, a dragon too but also a person, not some fucking trophy for this asshole to parade around and rub in the faces of all of his guests. How the fuck was he meant to get out of this shit, especially with the horrific torture device masquerading as a collar around his neck? 

Moments like this were when he missed Geralt the most. The man always had a plan or at least was willing to wade into trouble headfirst to help the poor innocent victims, of which Jaskier had numbered amongst far too many times. If Geralt were here, he would have freed Jaskier in a heartbeat and most likely done something rather violent and satisfying to this puffed up peacock with the shitty accent. Jaskier huffed and started telling this asshole all the things that Geralt would do to him once he found out that he was keeping Jaskier captive, ignoring the facts that Geralt had no idea that Jaskier was a dragon being held captive in Toussaint or that the man could not understand the angry grumbles and growls of the dragon as the stupid braclet was limiting his ability to communicate with anything other than vocal cords not at all suited for speech. 

The man watched him with some amusement for a while before chucking to himself about having brought a rather lively specimen and turning back to survey the rest of his guests at the feast. Jaskier continued to bitch him out, his voice rising in volume until the man turned a threatening glare on him and tugged menacingly at a golden necklace that hung around his own throat. Jaskier winced in remembered pain and turned away from him, silently examining the rest of the room for a way out of this hell hole. 

The room was filled with the kinds of assholes that his mother would have loved to entertain, wanting to lord her own superiority over them the entire time. They all glittered with as many jewels and ropes of gold as they could, the colours clashing horrifically with their clothing made of crushed velvet and silk. The amount of wealth in this room would be enough to keep Geralt and his brothers going on the Path for several years at least, and none of it measured up to the ridiculous finery all around the room and dripping from the Head Asshole as Jaskier had named him, the man clearly wanting to make all of his guests jealous with his over the top displays. 

The table was covered in the kinds of foods people used to impress others, roast swans and peacocks taking center stage and expensive imported fruits being displayed all around them. Jaskier hated the way that his mouth watered at the sight and the smell. He supposed he hadn’t eaten in Melitele knew how long it had been since that disgusting meat, but he didn’t want to give Head Ashole the satisfaction of having something over him, even if it was just food. 

He glared at the few people brave enough to approach his cage, each of them remarking to Head Asshole about how lucky he was to have his very own dragon and how exciting it was to see one in the flesh, especially one with such a lovely colour. He had to resist the urge to lash out at them when one of them made a comment about his scales matching well with the decor, like he was some fucking ornament and not a living creature. Besides, his scales were a much deeper and more beautiful gold than this tacky shit, it was an insult to even compare the two. Head Asshole shot him a look as he puffed up indignantly and the collar heated warningly until he subsided, the fucker smiling smugly and talking to the other puffed up peacocks in a condescending tone. 

The fucking feast seemed to go on for ages and there was nothing for Jaskier to distract himself from his misery with. The bard they had performing was shit, his voice all pitchy and too soft to cut through the chatter of the room. The only food that was offered to him was shitty little morsels shoved in by fops pretending to be brave, the horrific amounts of cologne they had clearly doused themselves in sticking to the meat so that it stank. Jaskier was far too good for that shit, so he merely sneered at them and pushed it back out of the cage, something that had them tittering about him being a delightfully willful creature and so entertaining for them all. 

There was nothing for him to do besides languish in his cage and glare at them all, thinking of the millions of ways he would get his vengeance if through some miracle Geralt burst through those doors and freed him from his stupidly small little prison. He had quickly moved beyond simple daydreams of murder and mayhem, starting to plan out long and elaborate ways to punish them all by the time people started leaving in loud, drunken groups. The collar flared up in pain again when he snapped at one idiot who decided to poke a finger into his cage as he said his goodbyes, hearing Head Asshole reprimand the man even as he wheezed in pain. When they were all gone, the asshole turned to regard him with an even stare. 

“You certainly were the belle of the ball tonight, weren’t you, my pet?” he said, sloshing wine into the cage when he saluted Jaskier with his goblet. “Finally, something to make sure all of these sheep understand the brilliance in their midst. You had an easy night tonight, pet, but we will have to think of something truly impressive to have you do. Wouldn’t do for the sheep to get bored with such a shiny new toy, now would it? Otherwise, we might have to sell you on to some less than friendly individuals. I did hear one at the market wondering if you tasted the overgrown chicken you resemble, bloody heathens. Not to worry, pet. As long as you do as you are told and continue to wow the crowds, I will keep my newest treasure in the comfort it deserves.” 

With that, he gestured some servants over. The cage was lifted from the table it had been on and carried out of the hall. Head Asshole watched it go, his eyes alight with his own megalomania until the doors closed between them. Jaskier shuddered, hunkering down in his cage and whimpering as he was carried downstairs into a dark, cool room. The cage was dumped none too gently onto the floor, a bowl of offcuts from the meat shoved between the bars alongside a bowl of water, and then he was left alone with the click of the door closing. 

He uncurled from the little ball he was in, poking his nose at the food and water to see if it was safe. He sniffed at it delicately before his hunger won out. He found himself shoving his head as far into the bowl as he could, gorging himself on the food as if it would be taken from him at any moment. Once he had finished the depressingly small amounts of food and water, he started trying the bars of his cage. He shoved at the bars with his shoulders, trying to test them for weaknesses or anything that he could exploit. The bars were frustratingly solid, none of them having any give in them even when he threw his whole weight against them. 

He growled under his breath, not wanting to give up but also not seeing a way out of this. Even if he could get out of the cage, there was still a closed room, and entire (what seemed to be a ) manor filled with people who wanted to treat him like a fucking pet, and then the gods only knew how far he would have to travel to try and find anyone. Plus, the icing on this very craptastic cake, there was the collar around his neck which he was sure would not be too happy with him trying to make a run for it. 

How the hell was he getting out of this? He had been in several shitty situations over the years, but this really was the pits. He had never been kept as a pet before. Chased by angry spouses and parents, check. Thrown out of inns and taverns out into the cold of winter because some people did not appreciate art when they heard it, check. Kept as a fucking pet and burnt around the neck every time he tried to resist the asshole, that was a new one for him. 

Hell, he didn’t think that even Geralt had been subjected to this kind of shit. The man was suitably intimidating, he didn’t really see anyone trying to put a collar on him. Gods, it wasn’t often that he wanted to be more like the witcher, but now was one of those times. What he wouldn’t give to be scary like Geralt, or even big like Borch so that people couldn’t put him in a fucking cage. 

This was such shit, why did this shit always happen to him? He was a nice man, he didn’t deserve this. No one deserved this, but that didn’t seem to stop all the assholes in the world for doing all the awful shit that happened every day. Maybe he should be grateful that it wasn’t a hell of a lot worse, that he wasn’t being hacked into little scaly pieces or some other unpleasantness, but still. Was it too much to ask for him to be left alone? 

Gods, his luck was shit. He was trying so hard to keep the panic down, the feeling that this was just like when his mother had had him. The fucking years she had kept him in a fucking cage to keep him out of sight of all the ‘proper’ dragons, he could feel the bars closing in around him, smell the brimstone and blood scent of his mother overpowering any other scents in the room, feel the viscous blood dripping down his skin again. He whimpered to himself, trying to shake away the memories before the pressure in his chest could increase. He could feel his breath coming in short pants, his flanks heaving with each inhale, and swore to himself. 

Fuck, he hoped somoene would come for him soon. He didn’t know how long he would last here before he lost his mind. 


	9. All the horrors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier gets a taste of his new life.

Days passed in monotony. Jaskier was left in his cage, his only source of entertainment, the irregular arrival of servants who shoved more food and water into his cage, took the bowls he pushed out, and left. He tried to occupy himself, counting the bricks in the wall of the room (1320 of the godsdamned things), singing all of his songs to himself that he could remember, and even rehearsing the horrific conversations he would have to have with everyone once he was free of this hell hole. The one with Borch threatened to be almost as terrifying as the one he would have to have with Geralt when he saw him next and was clearly a little more resilient than your average human. 

He was going insane, that was all there was to it. He hadn’t been coping well with the confinement of the cave with Borch and Téa and Véa and his darling Saskia (gods he hoped she wasn’t too distressed by his disappearance) but that had nothing on this. At least there he had been able to go outside the cage, explore the general area, and he had been able to talk to people! 

The silence alone was getting to him and allowing the memories pressing on the edge of his mind far more hold over him than he would like. He could hear his mother’s voice at times, whispering to him about what a disappointment he was and how she would make it all better, her voice that awful hissing sound it tended to take right before the pain started. He knew it wasn’t there, that there was no way she was anywhere near him, but it still had whimpers welling up in his throat, and he had hyperventilated himself into unconsciousness more often than he would like to admit. Sweet Melitele, it was almost as bad as when he had first escaped from that place. 

He had taken to talking aloud to himself to try and keep the shadows at bay. He had tried running through his scales and decided that they were not particularly suited for draconid vocal cords. He had tried to work on developing a more intimidating roar, hating that it was still rather high pitched and weak even if Borch had told him that it would improve as he grew larger and developed a greater lung capacity. He had tried out exactly how loud he could get his voice to go (loud enough to make something outside the room rattle and attract the attention of someone who had slammed their fist into the door a few times and yelled about getting the master to sort him out if he carried on like that. The threat had Jaskier curling up sulkily, not wanting to admit his fear of Head Asshole and the magic burning collar. 

He had spent far too long trying to get the stupod collar off as well. Whenever he started pulling on it, it started heating up in warning. He had decided to suck it up at one point, sliding a claw under it (slicing his neck in the process but what was a little blood compared to his freedom) and trying to saw at the thing or pull it off, anything to get it away from him. He had to admit defeat when the blood made it too slippery to get a good purchase and the pain of the collar simultaneously burning and cutting off his air supply had dots swimming in front of his eyes. 

He subsided in a panting mess, mentally swearing out himself, the asshole who put the collar on him, the assholes who had captured him, and Valdo Marx for good measure. It seemed he would have to be a bit more cunning about how he would get the stupid thing off. He would have to wait and watch, choose the perfect moment for his escape and then probably go pleading to some mage to get the fucking thing off. That had him snarling in annoyance. If other mages were as bad as that fucking Yennefer of Vengerberg, he would have a hell of a time convincing one to help him and then would never hear the end of it for the next thousand years. 

Not that that would matter if he couldn’t figure out a way out of this mess. It was looking less and less likely by the minute as well, as the door opened and Jaskier perked up in interest. Any deviation in his solitude was welcome, anything to break up the tedium of being alone in a dark room. 

A rather attractive young man walked in, his brown hair brushed back neatly and his clothes a contrast to the opulence Jaskier had learned to expect from this place with their almost military utilitarianism. Jaskier could almost taste the magic crackling off of the man, one of his newly developed dragon abilities he supposed, and recoiled back into his cage as the man approached him with a rather self-satisfied grin on his face as the door swung closed behind him. 

“Ah, come now, little dragon. There is no need for such a reaction,” the man said in smooth, honeyed tones. Jaskier bared his teeth, not taking his eyes from the man for a moment as he knelt before the cage and opened the door. The man reached a hand confidently in towards Jaskier, not even flinching as he snapped at it and then recoiled in pain. “We are going to be the very best of friends here, so you would do well to get all silly thoughts out of your head now.” 

Jaskier hissed, hating the way he felt so helpless as the man gently pulled him out of the cage. He puffed himself up to his full height once he was free, knowing that he was only a little bigger than some of the stupidly small dogs the noble women seemed to delight in carrying about like a baby. The man chuckled indulgently at him, giving him a rather terrifyingly thorough once over with his eyes before beginning to poke at Jaskier’s wings and examine his claws. He screeched in indignation, trying to pull away and freezing when the air around the man’s hands started to burn at his skin just like the fucking collar. 

“I suggest you get used to cooperating, my friend. You will soon find that I am not interested in any theatrics. The good Sir Bernand-François de Lack has allowed me to use his darling pet for some of my studies, provided I can teach you a few tricks to make the hoi polloi ooh and ahh over his latest spectacle. I am sure that you will want our time together to be as pleasant as possible, my friend, so I suggest you learn to cooperate now and save yourself unnecessary pain. It would be a shame to have to hurt you.” 

The man kept up his friendly, charming tone the entire time, something that had shivers racing down Jaskier’s spine. This man was far too used to everyone agreeing with everything he said. Arrogance almost dripped from every pore, and not the attractive, friendly kind of confidence in one’s abilities that Jaskier liked to think he had, no this was the repulsive I-am-so-much-better-than-all-you-mere-mortals kind of shit that made him want to watch Geralt smack him in the face with one of his swords, or Borch squash him with one enormous paw. 

Jaskier’s grumbled response quickly turned into a shrill cry when the man yanked too hard at a wing and then pulled a knife from his sleeve. Before Jaskier could really move, the man sliced a scale off of the edge of his wing, quickly wrapping it in some material that stank of herbs and magic before producing a vial from the gods only knew where and collecting some blood from the wound. Fuck, of course he had to find the crazy man who wanted to use him for some freaky experiments. Fuck, fuck, fuck. 

“Calm yourself, my friend. You will find this procedure commonplace after a while, I am sure. We need to figure out just how you can be of use to me, you see, and I won’t have you kicking up such a fuss each time. Now that I have something I can work with, we should work on making the lord of this fine establishment happy. I am far too busy to bother looking after you full time, so keeping you here will be much easier.” The man grinned down at him, the various tools he had used being shuffled away into pockets before he stood before Jaksier, looking down at him as if he were a particularly stupid dog that he needed to teach how to fetch. 

“First things first, let’s make this clear. You follow my commands to the best of your ability, or I will have to punish you. And don’t think about playing stupid, I am sure you would not like to find out how I treat disobeyal.” Jaskier shrunk down as his words, trying to make himself a smaller target. There was no way in hell he was risking getting on the wrong side of this asshole. The collar was bad enough, he didn’t need to see just how inventive this asshole could get.

The man muttered something under his breath and a wooden target appeared with the scent of electricity, sending Jaskier into a small sneezing fit. “First trick, let’s see just how impressive your fire is. The target only, mind you, or I will have to make you regret it.” 

Jaskier looked around the room as if there would be some magical escape exit. When nothing showed itself, he reluctantly turned to the target and puffed out a small stream of fire. The man raised an eyebrow at him, motioning for him to try again. With a huff of annoyance, Jaksier turned back to the target, focusing all of his anger and frustration into the warmth in his chest and then forcing it out through his mouth. The resulting blaze was rather impressive, even to him, and he couldn’t help but feel proud of it. 

When he looked back up at the man, he was still looking less than impressed. “I suppose that will have to do for now. You are rather on the small side, so I shouldn’t expect too much from you. You will be working on that, however. Any creature trained by Vilgefortz will be suitably awe inspiring, not a ridiculous flaming lizard. Try again.” 

Jaskier tapped his claws in agitation against the rough floor, grumbling mentally to himself. He tried again, focusing everything he had on this flame until it left him panting for air with the world spinning around him. When he looked desperately back up at Vilgefortz as he supposed he was called, the man just sighed and said “And again. This time, put some effort into it.” 

Jaskier tried, he really did. He tried over and over again but each time Vilgefortz just gave him this look, like he was something that should be scrapped off of the bottom of his shoe, and told him to try again. By the fifteenth try, Jaskier collapsed mid breath, his legs giving out from under him so that he fell into a heap on the floor as his sides heaved. Vilgefortz kicked lightly at him with the steel capped toe of his boot before sighing in disgust when Jaskier barely responded. 

“It looks like we have found the rather pathetic limits of your endurance, my friend. Not to worry, we will get to work on making you worth my time. Back in your little cage. We shall try again tomorrow and I expect you will be able to do much better then, for your sake at least.”

Jaskier barely murmured in protest as he was shoved back into the cage and the door was locked behind him. He watched piteously as the man turned neatly on his heel and walked out. What he wouldn’t give for some water, anything to assuage the dryness of his throat from the constant streams of fire that had poured out of it. But he should have known better than to expect kindness from anyone in this shit hole. 

He hated the way he knew that Vilgefortz’s dismissive comments would join with those his mother had said so long ago to torment him. He was a failure as a dragon, always had been, always would be. He was never good enough for his mother and he sure as hell wouldn’t be good enough for whatever Vilgefortz had planned for him. He was dreading finding out how the mage would react to the disappointment. 


	10. I’ll scream but you won’t hear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vilgefortz starts his experiments.

If Jaskier had thought that his first meeting with Vilgefortz was less than optimal, the rest proceeded to make that look like a lovely walk through a park with sunshine and birds singing and attractive people offering to sleep with him and all the other lovely things he could think of. He had no idea how long it had been, Vilgefortz not keeping to any real structure with his visits and consequently ruining any type of day/night cycle that Jaskier had. It left him a weird foggy haze most of the time, yet another thing slowly breaking him down. 

Vilgefortz had poked, prodded, and sliced into what felt like every part of him. HIs scales had lost any kind of shine, the gold becoming duller and duller by the day until they resembled the muddy mess that Jaskier felt his mind sinking into. It pissed Vilgefortz off to no end, so that mage had started feeding and injecting Jaskier with various things to try and regain the luster in his scales. Apparently, shitty brown scales did not sell for nearly as much money and were not as useful in his experiments. 

He had taken many vials of Jaskier’s blood as well, the dragon starting to feel more like a pincushion than anything. The mage frequently kicked at him when he collapsed due to blood loss, forcing various potions down his throat to provide an instant remedy to his lack of blood that left him shaking and vomiting once he was left alone. It wasn’t exactly conducive to healing all of the wounds that Vilgefortz left all over him, but the mage didn’t seem to care. 

When he was required to put in an appearance at a feast for the Head Asshole, more commonly known as Sir Bernand-François de Lack, he was frequently dosed up on all sorts of stimulants and coated in a glamour that made him feel like he was wading through some of the viscera he had cleaned off of Geralt’s armour in a happier life. It was just enough that Head Asshole seemed content with his performance, complimenting Vilgefortz on how well Jaskier could impress the other lords with his large streams of fire and aerial acrobatics and other party tricks. 

All the while, Jaskier felt himself retreating further and further into his mind. Every time he was forced into that hall to perform for people who cooed and awed over him like he was some mindless beast, he could hear himself screaming in the back of his mind. The voice seemed to get quieter and quieter every time, Vilgefotrz’s dominating personality seeming to force every last piece of the bard who had wandered the Continent, traveled with a witcher, and lived with a literally dragon even in his human form deeper and deeper into a the back of Jaskier’s mind.

He found himself seeming to black out. One day, Vilgefortz was yelling at him for not performing to his satisfaction, ripping holes in the delicate skin of his wings in retribution. The nerves in his wings seemed particularly sensitive, something that Vilgefortz loved to take advantage of when he felt the dragon was not meeting his expectations. One second he was screaming in pain as the blood flowing down his wings only made the pain flare brighter when it hit open and healing wounds, the next he was halfway through one of his stupid routines in the middle of a feast, precisely roasting a single potato where it was balanced on the head of a servant standing several meters away as a display of his accuracy. The sudden shift back to consciousness had him jerking slightly, shifting the aim of his flame just enough that it scorched the top of the man’s hair. He screamed like his throat was being cut, patting frantically at his head as if he could feel flames there rather than the tiny increase in heat that he had received. 

Jaskier was left screaming silently on the floor, the collar around his neck seeming to melt the scales and flesh of his neck while also constricting to cut off his air supply. He was grabbed roughly from the floor and hurriedly taken from the room and back to his cage. They didn’t even bother locking him into it, just shoving him in and swinging the door closed behind him. It was the kind of scenario he had dreamed of so many times when he had first been captured, but all he could do was turn and stare listlessly at the door. 

He allowed several fantasies to play out in front of his eyes, of him staggering to his feet and managing to find a way out of the room, of Geralt and Borch bursting into the room and rescuing him from this nightmare, but he knew that it would never happen. By this point he had resigned himself to spending the rest of his life in this hell until he died from something that Vilgefortz decided to put him through. It was only a matter of time until the man pushed too hard or cut too deep, and it worried Jaskier that he was almost starting to look forward to that day with anticipation. He was terrified of the day that he would lose hope entirely, that he would be nothing more than a shell that performed whatever request Vilgefortz made of him, but he could feel himself slipping more and more with each visit. 

Vilgefortz eventually stormed into the room, looking as neat and military precise as usual. “You little shit. How dare you disgrace me like this!” he raged, kicking at the side of the cage in his anger. All Jaskier could do was turn his head slowly to watch the man as he strode around the room, sparks flying from his hands as he flung them around in disgust and ranted about how Jaskier’s mistake had reflected on him. 

“You’re fucking lucky, you stupid little lizard. I have much more important things to take care of than your inability to follow even simple instructions. I need to keep those idiots in Aretuza and Ban Ard in line, can’t have them deciding to make stupid fucking choices in my absence. We will have to make do with a more lingering punishment, I believe.” The way that Vilgefortz so quickly regained his calm, the dead look in his eyes and the lack of emotion in his voice, terrified Jaskier. 

The mage quickly knelt before him, grabbing his head before he could move and forcing his jaw open. A vial of disturbingly bright blue liquid was dripped down Jaskier’s throat and then Vilgefortz shoved him away roughly, wiping his hand on his pants as if Jaskier was disgusting while the dragon wretched at the horrific taste in his mouth. 

It left a horrific after taste in his mouth, shocking him into movement again after his apathy. He could feel it sliding down his throat and shitting in his stomach in one disgusting, heavy lump and tried to make himself vomit it back up. 

Vilgefortz tutted at him and cast a quick spell. “Now now, we can’t have you trying to worm your way out of your punishment. You can stop that pathetic noise, you won’t be getting rid of it that easily. You are going to have plenty of time to think about your actions, lizard, and then when I am back we will see just how penitent you are. Enjoy yourself, and know that I will be thinking of you while I deal with those stupid mages with their ridiculously limited ideas of just what the future could be.” 

The man stepped back to level a truly sadistic grin at the small dragon. “Ah, but I wouldn’t want to miss all the fun, now would I? I shall leave this here then,” he placed a small, shiny crystal in the corner of the room, fidgeting with it for a moment until it seemed to be placed to his satisfaction. “I shall be able to check in on you from time to time now, so feel free to be as vocal as you would like. I am sure I shall need the distraction when they all decide to put their stupid ideals before the facts of reality.”

With that, the man strode out of the room, leaving Jaskier in a curled heap dreading whatever horrors the potion would enact on his poor body. 

Jaskier waited in anxiety for several hours. He was almost at the point where he thought that the waiting would be worse than any actual effects that the potion had on him. He swore he could feel it, the hard mass in his stomach seeming to spread tentacles of cold throughout his body. He didn’t know how much was in his head and how much was the actual potion, but he was terrified to find out what it would do once it spread through him. 

It started deceptively slowly. He was lying in his cage, so focused on the sensations in his body as he tried to anticipate what would happen to him that he didn’t notice the shape in the room at first. 

Then he heard her voice. 

“Julian, Julian, Julian.” 

He let out a squeak of pain, looking around wildly to see where the voice was coming from. Then he saw her, lounging in the corner in her favourite high backed chair with her legs kicked over one arm. His mother was watching him, a glass of wine in her hand as she pursed her lips in disappointment. 

“Look just how pathetic you are. Whimpering and whining and playing pet to humans. I don’t know what I expected, really. You have been nothing but a disappointment since the moment I had to break you out of your own egg. Even if you have somehow managed to force the shift, you know that you are no true dragon. You are still my greatest mistake, reminding me at every turn just how much I must have pissed off one of the gods to be cursed with a burden like you.” 

Jaskier whined, shaking his head and burying it under his paws. There was no way she was really here, no way she was in this room with him now. This had to be the fucking potion, it had to be. Vilgefortz wanted to watch him squirm as all the demons of his past confronted him and he was not going to suffer for the entertainment of that psycho when he wasn’t even present. He had enough of his dignity left for that. 

“Oh no, you don’t get to hide from me, you little shit,” his mother hissed, her voice taking on the sibilant sound that tended to precede intense amounts of pain. Her voice was suddenly much closer and when he instinctively looked up her face was right in front of the bars of his cage, peering in at him with eyes that had gone slitted and dracond in her human face. “You have to face up to all of the shit that you have put everyone in your life through. This is your punishment, Julian, this is everything that you deserve. Where else would a failure like you end up?” 

She grinned savagely at him, tapping her claws along the bars of his cage one by one so that he shuddered at each noise. “VIlgefortz is just treating you like you deserve to be treated. What else do you do with rubbish like you? The poor man is trying just as hard as I did to make you live up to even the lowest of expectations, but you can’t even do that. Any pain he puts you through is rightly deserved, Julian, and you know that.” 

Jaskier bared his teeth at her. He did not deserve this shit, he had done nothing wrong. He clung to the memory of Borch, of the Zerikannian women and Saskia, of Geralt, his best friend in this world. His mother laughed, her voice echoing off of the walls and through his head. “How cute,” she drawled. “You think that there are people out there who care for you, who don’t see just how useless you are. You really need to stop being so delusional, Julian, it is most unbecoming. Borch clearly felt responsible for you, the disaster that you are. Why else would he hide you away in the mountains, away from everyone? Sure, he said it was to protect his child, but you know deep down it was because he was ashamed of what a failure you were and he felt as if he had to try and fix you. Poor man, he didn’t understand that you are beyond help. He would have done better to leave you on that mountain, the same way your witcher did.” 

Jaskier flinched at the mention of Geralt and saw his mother’s red lips stretch into a smile filled with fangs. “Oh yes, Julian. I know all about your pathetic little crush on the witcher. The way you deceived that poor man, tricking him that there was someone in this world who did not see him as a monster when really you were the monster all along. Just imagine how disgusted he would be if he knew what you are, how he would feel to know that he had been lied to and forced to travel with an abomination without knowing it. Do you think he would put you down like the pitiful creature you are, or would he be so unable to look at you that he would leave you behind, again? Hmm, it would almost be worth it to see the look in his eyes, the knowledge that all of your speeches about him not being a monster were just a cover to make yourself feel better. The poor dear, maybe it’s better for him to never know just how much you have infected his life with your ... inadequacies.” 

Jaskier screamed silently, clawing at his ears as if he could block out her voice. He didn’t want to listen to this, didn’t want to hear his mother’s silken voice unpack all his deepest fears, but he had nowhere to go. 

“Oh Julian, we have so much to catch up on. I am so glad you are here to listen, you have some hard truths to learn.” 


	11. All the flowers are rotten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier is left alone to his misery.

Vilgefortz didn’t come back. Jaksier spent weeks with the shadow of his mother as his only company, her diatribes about his uselessness only broken up by servants shoving food and water into his cage. He barely touched it, feeling himself slip further and further into the apathy that had been slowly creeping up on him. His mother never stopped, her voice keeping him from sleeping and invading his every waking moment. It was worse when there were others with her. 

He had seen Borch, in both forms, stare at him with those aged eyes filled with disappointment and tell him how much he regretted ever letting Jaskier near his daughter. Téa and Véa both explained how they would be honoured to serve any dragon, but looking at him it was clear that he was not worthy of that respect. Yennefer cackled at him like the mad witch she was, gloating about how much happier Geralt would be with her now that he was free of the burden of Jaskier’s presence. Geralt even made an appearance himself and those were the times that Jaskier dreaded the most. 

When the witcher appeared, his perfect golden eyes were always filled with such sorrow and pain, like he couldn’t believe what he could see huddled in a corner of the cage. He talked in halting tones about how the knowledge that he had travelled with such an abomination felt like sludge all over his skin that he could never wash off. He said that he changed his wish, it would no longer be enough to ask life to take the bard off of his hands but to remove every taint of such a horrific individual from every corner of his life. Geralt explained how Jaskier had ruined his life, made him believe that he wasn’t a monster when the true monster was the one travelling alongside him. He couldn’t trust anything anyone said to him now, not when he had been deceived by one so seemingly harmless but so vile. 

It broke Jaskier’s heart more than hearing his mother denounce him at every turn to hear Geralt believe that he was still a monster, to feel as if all of his work trying to make the witcher see just how special and deserving of love he was had amounted to nothing. Whenever he saw Geralt appear in his room he tried desperately to get out of his cage. It was the only thing that broke through his constant lethargy, sending him scrabbling desperately at every inch of his cage until blood ran freely down his legs from his broken and splintered claws and the wounds he carelessly raked across his own body to try and drown out his words with the pain.

It was in the middle of one of those gods awful visits that Jaskier heard strange sounds from outside his room. He couldn’t focus on them, too busy gnawing at the bars of his cage until his mouth filled with the salty taste of blood and metal as if he could somehow block Geralt’s deep voice with an even deeper pain. He didn’t pay any attention to the voices in the hallway outside his room, to the scent of lilac, gooseberries, brimstone, and metal, too focused on his stupid attempt to escape the constancy of Geralt’s voice explaining just how awful his life was now that Jaskier had taught him to see deception in every face. 

The door crashed open with a bang, people stumbling in and letting in the sounds of screams and steel clashing. Jaskier didn’t turn, trying to keep his eyes from where Geralt paced the room with that fluid grace even as his heart seemed to break behind the emotionless mask he always wore. He ignored the sounds of familiar voices swearing and sounding muffled by tears up until someone opened his cage and tried to touch him. 

Then he reacted on instinct, flipping himself around and lashing out with claws jagged from where he had snapped them on the bars of the cage and a jaw dripping with his own blood. He was so lost to his fear and the rise of fury to cover it up that he didn’t register anything other than a threat approaching him. It had the collar on his neck searing him with more agony but he welcomed it as this point, it was one more thing to drive away the sound of Geralt’s voice as he condemned Jaskier for a monster and pointed out how he was acting like the very beasts he was hired to slay. 

One of the hands pulled back when he managed to bite into the dark skin viciously, crying out in pain. There was another huddled conversation that Jaskier didn’t comprehend before there was a sigh and someone slammed the door of the cage shut before lifting it. 

Jaskier howled out all of his anger and pain as he was jostled around in his cage. He lost himself to the play of his instincts, relishing the relief from his more human emotions of grief and self-loathing. It was much easier to allow the animal brain to kick in, to become a beast of anger and violence. He lashed out, trying to catch at the hands holding his cage with his claws or sear them with his fire. He could feel the oppressive weight of magic at that, keeping him from injuring his enemies, and he screamed in frustration. 

He could hear the people carrying away yelling to each other, some of them breaking off from the group to attack the men trying to stop them from carrying Jaskier away, but he was too caught up in his rage to notice. He could see Geralt pacing alongside them, deftly weaving through the crowds of people fighting and continuing his monologue. When he turned away to snarl at the people carrying his cage, he saw his mother following them, her voice cutting through the noise to drill straight into his head. Borch and the Zerrikanian women followed, their voices adding to the cacophony in his head. 

Jaskier screamed again, fire spewing from his throat, as he tried to block it all out. The voices got louder and louder, the background noise of the battle raging around them rising to match it. He kept raking at the cage, ignoring the blood from his open wounds and the pain around his neck.

There was a cry of shock and panic from the person carrying him and then the heavy weight of magic pushed him into oblivion. He welcomed it, wanting nothing more than to block out all of the voices in his head. 

* * *

“Is he alright? I didn’t hurt him, did I?” 

Jaskier groaned, wincing at the sound of someone’s voice close to him. It didn’t matter that the voice was soft with tears, something that caught at the back of his mind as out of character for this particular voice, he reacted immediately to a potential threat. 

He threw himself away from it, expecting to smack against the bars of his cage as he tried to put space between him and the possible source of pain. Adrenaline surged through his body, making him feel more alive than he had in weeks. When he instead skittered across something far softer than anything he had touched in far too long until he fell off of whatever he had been placed on and hit the floor with a thump, he let out a terrified chittering sound and looked around frantically. 

He hissed in fear, more of his hallucinations in the room with him. It seemed that his delusions were getting even worse than usual, Yennefer seemed to be crying. It seemed completely impossible to see such a strong, stubborn woman actually expressing her emotions in a nonviolent way. He snarled in fear, already dreading what new hell she was about to unleash on him with her words. 

Someone else in the room moved, drawing Jaskier’s attention. His head spun on his neck to see Téa and Véa kneeling on the floor besides the bed he seemed to have fallen from. 

“It was not your magic that has injured him, mage. Do not worry yourself unnecessarily,” Véa said calmly, her eyes fixed on Jaskier. 

The dragon flinched, trying to prepare himself for whatever hatred she would spew next. This had to be some ploy to break him even further. At this point, why did he even try to resist it. He sighed, letting his body fall limp as the rush of adrenaline left him all at once. He panted, sides heaving as he collapsed in a heap. 

“Oh Jaskier, what have they done to you?” Véa asked, moving closer to where he lay sprawled out on the ground. He went to snap at her but didn’t seem to have the energy to move his head. He could do nothing more than snarl softly as she lifted him up and held him to her chest. 

“I am so sorry that I couldn’t do more. I tried to heal the worst of the wounds, but I had to expend a significant amount of magic ridding your body of the poison. I didn’t have much left to heal you.” Yennefer said, moving closer to him. Her voice seemed matter of fact as always, but there was a strange lilt to her voice, as if she were choking back emotions. 

Jaskier knew this had to be a hallucination. Yennefer would never be so kind to him, look at him with pity in her eyes without the bright light of sarcasm and fight that she always had. He raised a paw to his mouth, chewing at the skin until the pain flared bright in his mind to try and block out whatever would come next. 

Véa let out a soft cry, pulling his head away from his leg. Jaskier didn’t have the strength to resist her, mewling in frustration as his one way of blocking it all out was taken from him. 

“Little one, no. Please,” Véa choked out.

Yennefer’s eyes seemed to swim with memories of her own. He saw them drop down to look at her own wrists before Véa continued. “You’re safe now, you don’t need the pain anymore. It’s time for you to heal.” 

Jaskier let out a choked little laugh, wincing at the way it grated through his throat. The collar around his neck was burning him steadily, it was almost absurd that he hadn’t noticed that pain under all the other aches and the emotional turmoil. He was so used to it, it barely registered in his mind other than as a mild inconvenience. 

This was worse than before. The idea that he might be safe, that he might be free of Vilgefortz and all of those beasts that delighted in his pain, it was enough to terrify him. He had no idea how he was meant to react, at what point VIlgefortz would rip away the illusion and delight in the pain it caused him. It was safer to ignore it all, to harden his heart and refuse to acknowledge this new hallucination. It would hurt less this way. 

“We must get him back to Villentretenmerth,” Téa said, resting a comforting hand on her sister’s shoulder and looking down as Jaskier. He turned his head to avoid meeting her gaze, refusing to acknowledge this delusion. “He will be able to help us care for him. Besides, Saesenthessis needs to see him, the poor dear is almost broken-hearted with his disappearance.” 

Jaskier let out a mewl of anger at the name of his dearest little sister, not wanting her to be brought into this delusion. How dare Vilgefortz try to use her against him, he already felt guilty enough for abandoning her so soon after her hatching. He dug his claws into his own skin, needing the pain to remind him that none of this was real. He was stopped yet again, Téa pulling his claws from his skin and fussing over the blood that dripped from the needlepoint wounds. 

Yennefer stepped closer, reaching out to force Jaskier to look her in the eyes. “You are strong, Jaskier, strong enough to make me think that you were human for years. You will get through this and come out the other side stronger than ever.” Her lilac eyes seemed to blaze with fire down into his own and it made him feel so weak. 

He knew that Yennefer would never have broken, never have allowed herself to be reduced to nothing more than an animal. Maybe this was the angle that Vilgefortz was taking with this latest round of hallucinations. If he wanted to show Jaskier just how far he had let himself sink, just how much he failed to live up to all of his friends, then there was nothing Jaskier could do to stop him. Nothing that would make up for the way he felt like a complete failure when surrounded by such strong, capable people who would never allow themselves to sink this low. 

He was a disgrace, he knew this. It just hurt to have it shoved into his face quite so bluntly.


	12. Darkness and howling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier refuses to see the truth.

Jaskier refused to interact with these delusions. They tried to talk to him, tried to feed him, tried to prod him into responding. He had to give it to Vilgefortz, this was remarkably convincing, but he was not going to give that asshole the satisfaction. He started actively seeking out the sweet relief of blanking out, hoping against hope that if he didn’t provide any entertainment for the mage then he would make it stop. It didn’t work as often as he wanted and he could feel it ripping chunks out of his heart, to hear his friends so concerned for him. 

His mother also appeared, although with much less frequency. She seemed to hover around the edges of his vision and smirked at him, clearly enjoying his distress. She wasn’t speaking much anymore, just glorying in his pain and relishing the idea that even her presence was enough to have him on edge. 

Véa and Téa hovered over him, constantly talking to him about how worried they had been, how Borch and Saskia had been besides themselves at his disappearance. It sounded so real that Jaskier had resorted to chewing on his own tongue in distress, the salty taste of blood distracting him from the lies. Whenever they noticed they panicked, calling Yennefer over and trying to get the mage to heal him with her depleted magics. 

She refused each time, watching Jaskier quietly from the corner with those violet eyes that seemed to be red rimmed and sore and claiming that she needed to rest her magic so that she could portal them to safety. This was another tick in the hallucination column, the Yennefer he knew would never admit to any sign of weakness and was always ready to perform ridiculously overpowered feats of magic at the slightest provocation. This was the woman who had tried to harness the power of a djinn, there was no way she was too exhausted from healing his tiny form to make one little portal. 

This carried on for a couple of days, with the Zerrikanian women hovering over him constantly and Yennefer watching him from a distance, before something changed. The three women were suddenly engrossed in several heated discussions and things were being packed away. There was a frenzy of movement, and then Véa was gathering Jaskier up in her arms, holding him close to her while her sister shouldered a pack and Yennefer opened a portal. 

Véa rubbed a hand soothingly over his side and he flinched under her touch. “We shall be back with Villentretenmerth soon and then all will be well.” she said, looking at him as if she were offering him a lifeline rather than another lie to rip another hole in his heart. She looked so sure of herself, as if this would all be over soon, but Jaskier knew better. This was just one more of Vilgefortz’s deceptions to punish him, the outside world was something he would never see again. 

They stepped into the portal and Jaskier quickly lost whatever food they had managed to spell into his stomach when he refused to eat. He retched pathetically, feeling as if he was becoming far too used to this sensation. He looked around him apathetically as he finished, not recognising the snow and rocky mountains around him or the keep in the distance. It sparked a memory in the back of his head, something that he had been told long ago, but he pushed it all down to let the blankness wrap him in it's comforting embrace. 

“This is not what we had agreed, witch!” Téa shouted, pulling a blade from her back and pointing it at Yennefer. The mage merely smiled blankly back at her, her black dress standing out against all of the snow. “You said you would take us back to Villentretenmerth. What have you done?” 

Yennefer stepped forward, ignoring the sword and reaching for Jaskier instead. She scoffed when Véa pulled Jaskier away from her protectively, violet eyes flashing with satisfaction. “I have taken Jaskier to those who care about him, like I said I would. I will send a message to Borch, he can join us here where we can protect Jaskier better. From the looks of him, someone with a rather extensive knowledge of potions and dragon anatomy as well as some powerful magic had hold of him. Witchers are created to kill monsters, I am sure they will be more than happy to help defeat this one too.” 

At that, Jaskier panicked, wriggling in Véa’s grasp. No, Vilgefortz couldn’t be this cruel. He couldn’t take this hope, this dream from Jaskier, and use it against him like this. All he had wanted was to be welcomed into Geralt’s life, to be the kind of person that he would take back to meet his family and trust with the knowledge of where they stayed during the winter. 

Véa clutched him tighter, trying to calm him, but was unable to keep a hold of him when he started lashing out with his claws in his desperation. His mother was standing to the side of him, laughing silently at his distress before vanishing. 

Yennefer let out a sigh of disgust as he dropped to the floor and gestured towards him, muttering something under her breath, so that he was lifted from the floor by invisible hands. They held him suspended, bringing him to her eye level as she smirked at him. “I did think that would get your attention, Jaskier. I know that you are in there under all of the shit that they did to you. Fight it. There aren’t many in this world who can challenge me the way you do, it would be a shame to see you lose yourself to this. Besides, I don’t want to have to put up with Geralt moping about anymore than I already have.” 

Jaskier screeched in distress. Enough was enough, Vilgefortz had to make this stop, this time he had to listen to his distress and make it all stop. He couldn’t take this, Jaskier knew that this was the thing that would break him beyond all hope of repair, to have all that he had ever wanted dangled right in front of him and then have it all pulled away at the last moment. 

“Stop your theatrics, bard,” Yennefer huffed, ignoring the angry words of the other women and focusing on the dragon in front of her. “I know that you only have a tiny little brain inside that head of yours, but try to comprehend that this is a good thing. Ugh, where is Geralt when you need him. I am sure that you two will be able to communicate fabulously with all the grunting and other boorish noises the two of you make.” 

She turned to survey the two women with a haughty expression. “I am taking Jaskier up to Kaer Morhen. You can come with me and help me to care for Jaskier until Borch arrives, or you can try and find your way to him yourself. Either way, the bard is coming with me so that I can try and figure out how to get this blasted collar off without taking his head with it. Make your choice.” Then she turned and started walking up the mountain towards the keep, Jaskier floating alongside her and scrabbling against the invisible hands holding him aloft. 

After another angry discussion, both women quickly stepped into pace with Yennefer, shooting her hostile glares. “You will let Villentretenmerth know where we are as soon as we arrive,” Téa stated in a hard tone. 

Yennefer barely acknowledged her with a nod of her head, focusing on picking out the right path through the snow. She ignored the way the Zerrikanians bristled at the slight, leaving them to whisper to each other as they followed along behind her. 

They kept looking at Jaskier as if checking that he was alright. He didn’t know what they expected to see, the illusion of Yennefer was hardly going to tip its hand before getting the most pain out of the situation. He was sure that Vilgefortz would make this play out for as long as possible, reveling in every moment of Jaskier’s pain as punishment for his misdeeds. He would not be injured until the mage was sure that Jaskier was truly broken, then he would set about rebuilding him to suit his expectations. 

It took them awhile to make their way to the keep, Jaskier fighting against Yennefer’s magic and getting bitched out by her the entire way. They had to pick their way through a path that seemed designed to force them off of the path and down some horrific looking slopes. Téa and Véa managed it, loping along with the grace of gazelles, while Yennefer picked her way through the snow daintily, although her eyes reflected the strain as they seemed to burn holes into the drifts that blocked their way. 

Once they reached the keep, Yennefer paused outside the rather imposing looking gates. She glared at the portcullis, muttering obscenities to herself before whistling piercingly. The sound seemed to reverberate through the air and then the gate was lifted to reveal a rather intriguing looking man. He was large and burly, looking like the stereotypical witcher. He wore his hair shaved apart from a particularly bushy black beard that seemed to hide the scars on his face. 

Jaskier stared at him, trying to figure out what angle Vilgefortz was trying by creating illusions of people that he had never met before. How was this designed to torture him further when he had no attatchment to this man at all. 

“Mage,” the man rumbled, his voice deep and gravelly. “Who might you be?” 

Yennefer tossed her hair over her shoulder impatiently, the curls almost crackling with the magic that surrounded her. “Stop your posing and go and fetch Geralt. Tell him that I found his bard.”


	13. The flesh of my fears

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier is brought into Kaer Morhen.

To say that Jaskier did not go quietly was a gross understatement. He fought like this was his last chance at survival, screaming and spitting fire until even Yennefer took a step back and looked at him in concern. The witcher in the doorway seemed particularly confused as to why the three women had brought a clearly unwilling dragon with them. 

“Go and get Geralt, for the love of Chaos, and stop gawping,” Yennefer hissed at him, focusing her magic on keeping Jaskier contained. He snarled at her, twisting in the confines of her magic and trying to get her to release him. He was done with this delusion, he needed this to stop.

The witcher turned and walked away, looking back over his shoulder at them several times. Téa and Véa continued to hover over him, trying to calm him down, but he was not interested in their platitudes. Vilgefortz had to make this stop, he couldn’t do this to him, it was too much. 

He continued to fight, growling in satisfaction when he managed to scorch the side of Véa’s arm when she got too close. Hopefully if he could damage the delusions, it would somehow stop it. Anything to prevent what was coming. He did not want to see Geralt wave all of his hopes and dreams in front of his face and then wrench them away. 

There was the sound of raised voices and running footsteps coming towards them which sent Jaskier into a panic. He could hear those familiar gravelly tones raised in alarm and tried to free himself, chewing at one of his paws again in his distress. The three women all swore in unison, darting forward to try and pull his paw from his mouth. He growled when it was wrenched from his mouth in another spray of blood even as he went lax with resignation, wishing he had something to try and block out what was about to happen. He could hear his mother’s laugh echoing in his ears. 

“Yennefer!” he heard Geralt yell as he came running down towards the gate. “Coën said that you had Jaskier. Where is he?” 

Geralt’s hair was a mess, all stringy and lank like he hadn’t taken any care of it since he had left Jaskier. He was not in his armour for once, only wearing a loose open shirt with his breeches. As he stopped before the four of them, a small girl came flying along the path and ran into the back of him. She immediately grabbed onto his leg for support and he absentmindedly dropped a hand to her hair. 

Yennefer was taken aback by the appearance of the girl, too busy looking at her to reply to Geralt. “This is her. This is your Child Surprise,” she said in a soft voice. Several emotions warred with themselves in her eyes as she looked at the child, taking in the messy braid of ashen hair and the big round green eyes that peered at them all curiously. 

Geralt nodded curtly, pulling the girl to stand in front of him. “This is Ciri. Yennefer, where is he? Did you find Jaskier?” 

“Is Jaskier the one you keep asking Triss if she could find with her magic? Because she said that if you asked her one more time, she would have to throw you out of the tower window.” Ciri smirked up at Geralt, her hand resting on her hips as she cocked her head at him imperiously. 

“Triss is here too? My my, this will be a rather interesting little gathering,” Yennefer said, twirling her hair around her finger thoughtfully. 

Geralt growled in impatience. “Yennefer! Where is he?” 

She scoffed at him, seeming to enjoy the way that he was losing his patience with her. “I am shocked at you, Geralt. From the way you have been acting, I would have thought he was your dearest friend in this entire world, in as much as you have friends. I wouldn’t have expected you not to be able to recognise him.” 

The witcher was almost letting off steam at this point with his annoyance. Several other witchers had followed them out and were watching from a safe distance, the shortest one elbowing the man beside him in glee at Geralt’s anger. Geralt turned and snarled at their whispered conversation before taking several deep breaths and trying again. Yennefer was looking more and more pleased with herself by the second. 

“Yennefer, the only people I see here are you, Véa, Téa, and what I assume is Borch’s child. Do you know where Jaskier is or is this another one of your bloody stunts to make me follow along with whatever scheme you have cooked up?” 

The mage grinned dangerously at him. “This isn’t Borch’s child, idiot. I suggest you have a good look at the dragon, although I am starting to wonder if we need to have your eyesight examined.” 

Geralt made a stunned noise, stepping closer to where Jaskier was held in the air. The dragon whimpered, trying to get away from him and recoiling when one large hand reached out cautiously to run a finger down Jaskier’s leg to the bloody wound near his claws. 

“Jaskier?” he asked in the softest voice the bard had heard from him. 

Jaskier shivered, pulling his leg away from Geralt and whimpering in distress as he tried to ball himself up as small as possible. There was another noise from Geralt and the sound of him taking several steps backwards. Jaskier raised his head to see horror on the witcher’s face and felt the precise moment his heart broke into several pieces. 

This was exactly what he had been dreading, the look on Geralt’s face when he realised just what he had been travelling with. Jaskier was nothing more than an abomination, a freak of nature that had pretended to be normal and human as if that would somehow cover up just how pathetic he was. Now that Geralt knew exactly what he was, knew that the bard he had been travelling with was nothing more than a carefully constructed lie to try and cover up all of Jaskier’s inadequacies, there was no telling how the witcher would react. 

“Your friend is a dragon? Why is he hurt?” the girl, Ciri, asked in a quiet voice. She had stepped towards him when Geralt had and he could almost feel her eyes running over his body and finding all the points where his flesh had not entirely healed from the trauma of Vilgefortz and Jaskier’s own anxieties. 

Téa cleared her throat. “He was held captive in Touissant. Villentretenmerth sent us to find him after he did not return from his flight in time, but there was no trail to follow. We found Yennefer and sought her aid in locating him and then removing him. Those who did this to him paid with their lives.” 

“Not all of them,” Yennefer added in an aggravated tone. “I can almost smell the magic all over him and there was no mage there when we found him. Everyone scattered after Sodden, so it's no surprise, but it does mean that the shit who did this to him is still out there somewhere. But not to worry, I will find them Geralt and when I do they will know better than to interfere with someone I ... I know.” 

Geralt barely nodded at her words, his eyes still fixed on Jaskier’s form with shock. “And his dragon form. Is that natural or a product of the magic?” 

“Oh, Julian is from a long line of dragons. He has powerful magic and we are honoured to help protect him. We will ensure that nothing like this ever happens to him again,” Véa added, looking shamefaced at the admission that they had not been able to protect him. 

Ciri seemed to accept this straight away, starting to pet at Jaskier’s scales and coo at him when he whined in distress. Geralt looked away, swallowing heavily, before gesturing at the keep. 

“Come inside, we can talk more there. Besides, Vesemir will kill me if I leave you all out here without introducing you all.” The witcher led the way towards the others who were still waiting in the doorway. 

There were four more witchers, all stood in a line. One had hair almost the same colour as Geralt’s, but his seemed to be due to age alongside his weathered face rather than the extra mutations that Geralt had been put through. Next to him was a rather tall man with an impressive scar down his face that pulled his mouth into a perpetual scowl. He was the one who had been elbowed by the shortest one, who’s scowl seemed to be more due to personality than scars. The one who had opened the doorway was standing to the side of them, seeming to be at once part of and separate from the others. 

His mother blinked into view beside them, leaning on the shoulder of the one from the doorway and shaking her head at Jaskier disapprovingly. He could clearly see the contempt in her eyes for the witchers which deepened when she looked at him. 

“Vesemir,” Geralt said, inclining his head slightly to the older witcher. “Allow me to introduce Yennefer of Vengerberg, the Zerrikanians that I told you were working for Borch, and ... and Jaskier.” He gestured to each as he went, pausing before mentioning Jaskier as if even the mention of the man pained him. It sent another dagger through the dragon’s heart, although he should be used to the constant pain by now in the same way he was accustomed to the burning of his collar. 

“Yennefer, Téa, Véa, ... Jaskier. This is Vesemir, the oldest of the School of the Wolves left. Then Eskel and Lambert,” he gestured at the two middle witchers, his lips lifting slightly in a snarl when Lambert pulled a sour face and was smacked on the side of the head for it by Eskel, “and Coën, from the School of the Griffin but we don’t hold that against him too much.” 

Yennefer sneered at the introductions, acting as if they were all beneath her as usual. “How lovely to meet you all. Now, please direct me to somewhere where I can work. I need to examine Jaskier in more detail now that I don’t have to worry about portaling or defending us from any other threats. Oh, and I need to send a message to Borch, I haven’t forgotten.” She flipped an impatient look to Téa and then stared expectantly at Vesemir, clearly waiting for him to hop to it. 

The older witcher looked steadily back at her for a moment, evaluating her and making it clear to the others what he was doing. 

“Hmm,” he said after several tense moments. “I am sure that we will be able to do something to accommodate you, Yennefer of Vengerberg. However, you will find that at Kaer Morhen everyone is expected to pull their weight. While you are ... caring for Jaskier, there will be no additional demands on your time. Once he is better, you will be contributing to life in the castle or you will be finding somewhere else to stay. Do I make myself clear?” 

Yennefer scowled at him. “As mud. Now, one of you show me where Triss is. I could use her magic to help unravel this mess. Geralt, I think I will need your help with Jaskier. Véa and Téa, I will make sure I get a message through to Borch, so you may as well make yourselves comfortable.” 

The three younger witchers looked at each other askance, each clearly unwilling to be the one to lead the mage into the keep. Vesemir sighed heavily and slapped Eskel on the arm. 

“Come on you, you’re usually the calmest of the bunch. Help Geralt take the lady inside and see that she has what she needs. Coën, keep Lambert far away from our two resident mages. I don’t want sparks flying when he decides to piss them both off at once and they agree that he deserves whatever retribution they can dream up.” 

Eskel and Coën both laughed at Lambert’s annoyed expression before pulling him into a quick play fight. WIthin moments Eskel had him in a headlock while Coën laughed and kicked him in the back of the knee so his leg gave out. It seemed to be usual witcher roughhousing as they all just bitched each other out before splitting up, Eskel sketching a quick salute to Vesemir before leading Yennefer and Geralt (Jaskier floating along much to his disgust) into the keep. 

Jaskier could hear Vesemir talking to the two women remaining in the courtyard as they left, but he was too distressed about whatever was coming next to pay attention. 


	14. Sunk but sinking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yennefer, Triss, and Geralt see what has happened to Jaskier.

The room they were taken to already had another mage in it. Her thick chestnut curls contrasted with Yennefer’s when the two hugged, each one making more and more dramatic comments about how much they had missed each other and how glad they were to see that the other was alright. Jaskier saw Geralt, who he hadn’t been able to stop watching as if the man was about to turn on him at any moment, turn instinctively to shoot Jaskier a wry glance at the women’s behaviour before his face fell at the reminder that the bard he had known was now a dragon. 

Jaskier let out a small hurt sound at the reminder that this was just a reminder of how pathetic he was and the two women separated to look at him in concern. Eskel sighed and shoved at Geralt. 

“If you two ladies think you can handle a tortured dragon and my idiot brother, then I will leave you to it. Yell if you need anything, one of us should hear.” With that, Eskel quickly walked out of the room, looking like he wanted to be far away from the mage’s reunion. 

Geralt glared at the retreating witcher’s back before turning to face the two mages, each looking at him expectantly. 

“You said you could help him, help Jaskier,” he said, looking at Yennefer like a little lost boy. It broke Jaskier’s heart a little more to see Geralt looking so cut up about something that Jaskier had done. Gods, why was he so awful that he makes everyone around him so miserable?

Yennefer made an unimpressed face at him before turning to Triss. “I need your help. Jaskier here has been kept captive and subjected to all sorts of magical and physical tortures. You’re rather good at healing magics, would you mind taking a look.” 

Triss grinned at Geralt a little sappily, earning her a sarcastic snort from Yennefer and a resigned look from the man in question. 

“I would be happy to see what I can do. Are you trying to identify who cast the charms or have you already dealt with the threat?” 

“Any insight on who’s magic it is would be greatly appreciated. You are much more familiar with the others than I am, what with all the time you spend at Aretuza and in the courts.” Yennefer’s smile only barely covered her teeth and the other woman seemed to take the rebuke and tone down the attention she was giving to Geralt. 

She approached Jaskier where he was still held in the air, muttering under her breath as she examined him gently. He hissed at her touch but was far too tired to try and fight her when she started manipulating his joints and sighing over the lacerations in his wings that were still healing. 

“Well, on the physical side of things, he has certainly been put through his paces. It’s hard to see with the scales, but I can’t see a single part of him that is not showing signs of some kind of trauma. Most of it seems to be almost surgical in nature, as if samples were taken, but a few look more like outbursts of anger, like he’s pissed off whoever had hold of him and they’ve lashed out at him.” Triss’ voice had gone tight with anger as she assessed him, something that had Jaskier moaning slightly in distress at the idea that she might turn that anger onto him. 

“And magical damage?” Geralt asked. The man had stepped closer to them, looking at Jaskier over her shoulder and getting more and more stone faced as she pointed out each injury. 

“It’s a bit harder to identify, sorry. There is definitely a lot of magical residue all over him, and I think the remains of a long lasting potion in his system,” she said, running her hands in repetitive motions over the dragon’s form and muttering quick chants under her breath as he examined him. “I can try and remove the potion, but I think it would be better to get a sample first so that we can try and neutralise whatever is in his system.” 

Jaksier flinched away from her as his mother appeared beside the mage, taking in the woman’s hair and clothing and clearly finding her lacking. Triss seemed to take his reaction as due to his words and started smiling soothingly at him. 

“It won’t be too invasive, just a quick swab of your mouth should be enough to get traces of it that I can analyse. The main thing that worries me is this collar, it feels like there are several protective charms layered over it as well as whatever it is spelled to do. Yenn, this one might be more your style then mine.” She ran a finger along the collar and pulled her hand back like it had burnt her even as it heated against Jaskier’s skin. 

When the dragon made a small pained noise, Geralt pulled Triss back away from him instantly. He looked at her accusingly and she held up her hands in protest. 

“I don’t know, Geralt. My best guess would be that the collar is intended as some kind of deterrent, administering pain when he doesn’t comply with his captor. Given how malicious this sorcerer seems to be, I wouldn’t be surprised to find that removing it is going to be a painful experience for Jaskier here. On another note, I thought Jaskier was the name of that bard that you said you were looking for. Is this a coincidence or is there more to the story?” 

Yennefer stepped closer, subtly inserting herself between Triss and Geralt to edge them away from each other with the pretence of looking at the collar in more detail. “Yes, Triss, this is apparently the annoying bard that has been following Geralt around for the last few decades without him knowing that the man is actually a dragon. I don’t know why we are surprised that Geralt’s observation levels have sunk to a new low, but here we are.” She shot him a sly smirk before turning back to Jaskier. He could see his mother now regarding the dark haired witch, scoffing at her attitude. 

“I can see what you mean about the protective spells though. They are rather complex and finding a way to untangle them all without causing Jaskier pain will be a rather interesting puzzle to unravel. It may take a few days for me to figure out the best way to do it without having it burn through his neck, but it won’t be impossible. I would suggest that this is someone older than either of us, who has had a long time to work on developing these complicated layered spells. We will have to have a chat about the members of the Brotherhood and see if we can narrow it down a bit, it should be a bit easier since Sodden has thinned out the numbers a bit.” She laughed harshly at that, ignoring the way Triss recoiled at the reminder of the battle and Geralt looked between the two in confusion. 

Jaskier looked between the two women, confused as to why Vilgefortz would create such an elaborate delusion to try and mess with him. He could understand why Vilgefortz would want to use Geralt and Yennefer to make him see just how useless and unwanted he was, but what was the point of having this Triss woman here? He had never met her before and he had no interest in their conversation about the Brotherhood beyond it potentially including Vilgefortz. 

It seemed like an elaborate ruse just to try and make him see something that he already knew, but perhaps he was being tested. Maybe VIlgefortz was using this to see just how broken Jaskier was, if he would try and use that information against him. The very thought had Jaskier shaking slightly, terrified of the retribution he knew would follow any attempt to go against his captor. 

He was too well trained at this point and the small part of him that wanted to rage against the idea that he could ever be tamed like some animal was quickly smothered but the memory of all of his other punishments. Jaksier had resigned himself to a life of orders and captivity, the alternative was just too scary at this point. 

He was so caught up in his mind that he failed to notice that the three had gone quiet, Yennefer focusing on him intently, until she recoiled in shock, tears welling up in her eyes. 

“Yennefer, what the hell was he thinking to make you react like that?” Triss said, looking from Jaksier to her friend in confusion. Geralt’s face was that mask that he tended to use whenever he was expecting awful news, but it had nothing on the abject horror in Yennefer’s eyes. 

“Oh, Jaskier,” she said in a hushed voice. It went against everything he knew of her, but then again, it would take a lot for the witch he knew to act with any kind of sympathy and she sure as hell would not show any for him. “Whoever it is, they’ve almost broken him. There’s only a glimmer of the annoying bard left in here and I honestly don’t know how much longer he would have lasted. He’s almost entirely given up, Geralt, and he thinks that all of this is just part of a punishment. Triss, we need that antidote as soon as possible. I don’t want him doubting that there are people who would come for him any longer than is completely necessary.”

Geralt made another noise, his hand twitching like he was about to touch Jaskier, before he turned and staggered from the room. The two women watched him go silently, thankfully not remarking on the pathetic noise that slipped out of Jaskier even though he knew that this was all just part of Vilgefortz’s plan. 

It was so clear to him. The man wanted him to think that he was saved, that someone had rescued him, so that he could see how the dragon would respond. What would follow would most likely be long hours of Vilgefortz gloating over how gullible Jaskier was and how stupid he was to think that there were people out there that cared for him. He wouldn’t give him the satisfaction, he didn’t have it in him to risk the pain that would come from allowing himself to hope and then having it dashed. 

Yennefer and Triss shared a long look, clearly talking to each other even though neither woman spoke, before they both turned back to Jaskier. 

“I know that you won’t believe anything I say,” Yennfer said, Jaskier’s mother hovering over her shoulder filing at her nails in boredom, “but I promise you this, there are people out there who care for you enough to hire me to help find you, and we all know how hard I work to be the kind of person others do not come to for help. We will help you to fight this, Jaskier, help you to get back to being that annoying, arrogant loudmouth who followed Geralt around like a lovesick loon. Now open wide and let Triss try and figure out what the hell this asshole did to you.” 

Jaskier resolutely clamped his jaws shut, not wanting to seem as if he was complying with the hallucinations. He knew that Vilgefortz had that damned crystal watching him so this was most likely some test to see if he welcomed their help. He was not being punished for being a naïve trusting little shit. That man was dead and gone. 

Triss sighed, blowing a curl out of her face in frustration when she could not open his mouth with a gentle tap on his jaw. Yennefer rolled her eyes at the pair of them before grabbing onto Jaskier’s face, her slender fingers quickly finding the joint of his jaw and digging in until his mouth dropped open reflexively. Triss shot her a rather unimpressed look, muttering about not wanting to hurt their patient even further, before quickly producing a wad of material and swiping it around the inside of his mouth and dropping it into a vial. 

“There, now you can go play miss healing magic and keep your claws out of Geralt,” Yennefer said archly. Triss flushed horribly and looked at the floor, but Yennefer kept going. “I assume you were invited here to help with the unbridled chaos that I can feel coming off of the Child Surprise, but that shameless flirting, really Triss, I had thought better of you.” 

Triss glanced up from the floor to see Jaskier staring blankly at her before letting her hair swing in front of her face again. “Yennefer, please,” she said softly. “I thought that you two were over, you know I wouldn’t put a man ahead of our friendship, no matter how muscular he might be.” 

Yennefer huffed in amusement, resting a hand comfortingly on Triss’ shoulder. These women were giving Jaskier whiplash from the way they went from accusing each other of things to seeming to be the best of friends. He supposed all mages must be crazy, all the ones he had met so far were. 

“Geralt and I are bound by a stupid fucking wish that idiot made, but I can honestly say that I am glad that I am not spending my time panting after him like some bitch in heat. I don’t want you making the same mistake I did, thinking that because he is so powerful and caught up in destiny he would be the kind of man who would be able to stand beside a mage throughout our long lives. Geralt is destined for someone else in that way, but I do know that whoever it is, they will not be a mage like us. He lives for that foolish Path of his, and none of us would be willing to give up our lives to follow him.” 

Triss made a considering noise, looking at Yennefer openly for a moment. “I see what you mean. He is far too caught up in his grand ideas of sacrificing himself for the greater good. It’s terribly romantic for a while, until you see the kind of deprivation they consider their hard won luxury for the winter. I am sure that within the day you will be summoning the necessities, just like I did when I arrived. How any of them expect to keep romance alive when you’ve eaten the same stew for the last week and had to listen to those men recount the same stories about the big scary beasts they have killed is beyond me. As good in bed as I am sure he is, I need a little more refinement in my life than that.” 

Yennefer laughed. “We are ladies of Aretuza, after all. Could you imagine Tissaia in this place.” 

The women dissolved into fits of laughter, the charm holding Jaskier aloft slowly fading until he was lying listlessly on the floor watching them hold each other up as they giggled helplessly. As charming as both women looked in that moment, all Jaskier wanted was for this all to end. 


	15. Don’t be uncouth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Triss and Yennefer make a breakthrough.

Jaskier was left alone with the mages for several days. It was almost like being back with VIlgefortz with all the poking and the prodding, but with much less pain. They claimed that they were trying to find ways to heal him, but Jaskier was still in a position where he had no choice in the matter and was being treated as a pincushion so there was no real difference as far as he was concerned. 

He could hear Téa and Véa in the hallway, yelling at Yennefer to get her to send a message to Borch and let them in to see Jaskier. The witch decided to respond by yelling back through the door that the message had been sent and there were delicate magics being worked so they could fuck right off. 

That went down about as well as expected. Neither woman seemed willing to take her at her word, so there was one of them at the door at all times and the other would reappear occasionally with someone else. 

Vesemir gruffly complained about it being his keep and them just being guests in it, but neither women paid him any mind. Lambert wandered by every now and then and made lewd comments about what both women were up to in their locked room but usually had to run away swearing as one of them paused in their work to curse him. Eskel and Coën took a more reasoned approach, trying to get the mages to talk to them and explain what they were doing. Triss would occasionally start to explain it all to them before Yennefer would start theorising aloud if it would be worth turning them into toads so that she could have some peace and quiet to concentrate. 

The one voice that the stupid part of Jaskier that continued to hope wanted to hear the most never came. Geralt seemed to avoid the room now that he had left him to the mercy of the two witches, and Jaskier hated the part of him that just wanted to curl up and cry the longer it went on. 

He had been fed a ridiculous amount of potions over the last few days, some making him aware of pain he hadn’t even known he was in until it eased. Some made him feel ill, but he was told that this was a necessary evil and that he would thank them for it later. He didn’t know how he should respond to it all. 

He didn’t want to anger Vilgefortz by not taking whatever potions he tried to force on him, but he also was terrified every time he was given something new to drink that this one would be the one that would leave him in crushing agony. It had to be some kind of trick, feed him enough potions that didn’t leave him in pain so that when he finally took the painful one he would be completely unprepared. He was stuck in this awful limbo, unable to do anything to help himself and completely at the mercy of his delusions. 

“I fucking found it!” Yennefer said, grinning viciously at Triss and holding the vial she had been slowly heating over an open flame up victoriously. “I’ve found what was in the potion in his system. Fucker thought that he could give him enough hallucinogens to take down a shaelmar and key it into his worst fears. Idiot bard is probably thinking that this is all part of that asshole's plans as we speak, am I right?” 

She turned and stared intently into Jaksier’s eyes for a moment, the violet seeming to shimmer with the influx of magic. 

“Fuck! That would explain so much. Alright, Miss Merigold. You’re the healer, how do we fix this? It’s no fun insulting someone who thinks you aren’t real.” 

Triss pulled a face at Jaskier, as if commiserating with him about Yennefer’s behaviour, before sighing. 

“Of course, I should be able to put something together within a few hours. Do you want to focus on that collar then? I’m sure that Jaskier would prefer to lose that particular accessory before he goes out to see everyone,” she said softly, already seeming absorbed in this new task. She absentmindedly brushed a chestnut curl out of her eyes as she started combining various herbs and liquids. 

Yennefer circled Jaskier slowly, narrowing her eyes at his collar. He gulped, wanting to hide from her eyes but not wanting to move in case he was punished. He could see his mother flickering in the corner of his vision and tried to ignore her to focus on the woman treating him like prey.

“Let’s see what we have here. I suggest you stay still, not that you seem to be as ... wriggly as you used to be.” She smirked to herself before she started chanting, touching a single finger to the collar as she went.

It heated under her touch and she frowned, her muttering getting faster and faster the hotter it got. Jaskier whimpered despite himself at the sensation, the heat irritating skin that had already been severely burned before and never quite healed. 

Triss made a concerned noise but quickly focused back on her task when Yennefer flickered her a glare. The raven haired mage kept going, her voice getting faster and louder as she grew more and more frustrated at the lack of progress. Jaskier’s voice was rising in a high pitched whine now, the pain overcoming his fear of further punishment. 

Yennefer scowled, hissing out words at a frenetic pace, and the collar gave one final searing bolt of pain before it neatly opened, dropping from his neck innocuously. 

The sight of that hated collar, the one that had caused him so much pain, had him panicking. He screamed at it, spewing flames and attacking it with claws and fangs until it was nothing more than a mangled mess of gold and stones. 

He stood, chest heaving with emotion, over it. It seemed so small and fragile, something delicate and almost beautiful about it. It made Jaskier sick to look at. 

He could feel blood dripping from his mouth where he had cut himself on the metal but couldn’t bring himself to care. Hell, he didn’t give a shit what VIlgefortz did to him for this. It had been completely worth it to get that fucking thing off of his neck. 

It was one less thing making him feel like a fucking animal and he needed that, needed to believe that he was something more than Vilgefortz’s trained pet or they would be no point to anything anymore. He had to keep some part of him safe, some tiny little part of the man that Jaskier had been needed to survive this or he would go insane. 

Triss panicked, dropping the vials she had been mulling over to fuss over the dragon. She was slow and methodical in her movements, making sure that he was aware of where her hands were at all times. He hissed lightly at her, but was too overwhelmed with emotion to put up too much of a fight. Besides, whatever she started smearing over his neck felt amazing, cooling the burn and soothing the deep pain that he had grown so accustomed to. 

“When we find who did this, Yennefer,” Triss said in a low voice, “we need to make them pay for what they have done. The amount of long term pain he has been in, I wouldn’t wish this on my worst enemy.” 

“That’s because you have always been the nice one, Merigold.” Yennefer snarked, her eyes betraying her true feelings. “You need to get a bit more bloodthirsty if you want to survive in this world. Don’t worry, that’s why I’m here, and I’m sure the brutes out there will be more than happy to help.” 

Triss glared at Yennefer with her cornflower blue eyes. “Just because I wasn’t out there roasting people alive doesn’t mean that I’m not willing to make people pay for shit like this. Not all of us are as obvious as you, but that doesn’t make us pushovers. I happen to have friends in rather high places after all of that.” 

Yennefer chuckled. “If you’re talking about the little friendship you seem to have taken up with that bitch Eilhart, I wouldn’t waste my breath if I was you. She may be after more than just that big brain of yours.” 

Triss grinned as she started bandaging Jaskier up. “She is rather ... intense, I’ll give you that. But enough about that, maybe you should take Jaskier out to see the others for a bit while I finish this up. I need some peace and quiet and you need to go and make nice with the boys so that we don't both get kicked out of this place. Unlike you, I don’t intend to outstay my welcome and I am rather interested in seeing what Ciri is capable of without having to work around Geralt’s wounded pride when you set him off again.” 

With a few muttered remarks about certain people getting too big for their britches, sounding rather more like someone’s maidenly aunt that Jaskier was familiar with Yennefer being, she picked up the dragon and carried him down the stairs as Téa followed behind. He was far too busy twisting his neck around and enjoying the lack of constriction and weight to put up a fight, not caring what happened to him now that he had such a visible reminder of his captivity destroyed. 

Yennefer walked down the stairs for a bit before swearing under her breath and turning to go down a different corridor, away from the masculine voices they could hear coming from the hall. Instead she turned towards the sound of a small girl’s voice singing absently to herself. 

When they walked into the room, Ciri was sitting in what appeared to be a library looking out the window. She was singing a rather popular folk song about missing loved ones, paying no mind to the tears sliding down her face and catching the afternoon sun. She didn’t react to their entrance, carding her fingers through her hair and keeping her eyes fixed on the horizon. 

Téa disappeared within the shelves, her eyes alight with curiosity, so Yennefer moved to sit in a chair beside Ciri. She left Jaskier on her lap, petting him absently like he was a dog, as she listened to Ciri sing. 

Her voice was beautiful, high and sweet. She sounded like the lark that Jaskier had been called so many times and it made something in his chest unfurl slowly. He basked in the sound of her voice, feeling almost like the man who had travelled the Continent with nothing but a song. Gods, what he wouldn’t give to be that man again, so sure of the world and all the wonders it had in store. 

“You sing almost as well as this overgrown lizard here,” Yennefer said lightly when Ciri finished singing. “Once we get him back on two legs, you’ll have to get him to give you a few lessons.” 

Ciri scowled, dashing the tears from her eyes. 

“I came here to be alone,” she snapped, her face reminding Jaskier of someone. 

“So you did,” Yennefer said, that mischievous light in her eyes. “And now we are here too. You will have to learn to live with it, Ugly One.” 

Ciri scrambled from her chair, standing in front of them and almost vibrating with her anger. “I am not ugly!” she snarled. 

Several books rattled on the shelf at her words and even Jaskier could feel the magic pooling around her. 

“Of course not, Ugly One. Whoever would suggest such a thing? Now do stop pulling faces at me like that. The wind could change and then where would you be? From my experiences with nobility, you want to keep what looks you have for as long as possible so you can buy some allies with your hand in marriage. Oh look, Jaskier, I’ve made the little one mad.” 

Ciri was close to launching herself at the mage. “I am not going to be married off like some broodmare, like my mother almost was. I’m going to be a witcher and travel the world killing monsters, just like Geralt!” 

Jaskier tried to hide from her rage, the magic making his skin prickle with memories that floated far too close to the surface. Yennefer dropped a hand reassuringly to his back even as she lent forward and narrowed her eyes at the skinny young girl in front of her. 

“A witcher? How ... quaint. Well, if you are planning on being a little monster hunter like that idiot I regret to say I once thought was charming, you had better get a better handle on that magic. We can’t have witchers roaming the Continent, blasting inns to pieces because someone has pointed out that she isn’t the picture of beauty. Jaskier here spent years trying to get people to think of witchers as something other than mindless, violent beasts, but if we let you out there I wager that they would be back to being chased out of inns and spat at in the streets within weeks.” 

Ciri’s eyes welled up with tears and Jaskier found himself nipping reproachingly at Yennefer’s hand before he let out a squeak of terror and launched himself from her lap to hide under one of the shelves. 

What the fuck had he done? Even if this wasn’t an illusion of Vilgefortz’s and he was seconds away from having the man punish him for showing any hint of aggression, she was a powerful mage and would most likely have similarly painful methods of expressing her displeasure. He whimpered, trying to force himself further into the little hole he had hidden himself in. 

“I fucking knew it,” Yennefer crowed, jumping to her feet in delight. “You did splendidly, Ugly One. I knew that seeing you all upset would bring out any traces of that annoying do-gooder that were left in there. You’re not a lost cause after all, bard! Now get your scaly ass out of there, I can hear Triss calling for us. “ 

When Jaskier refused to come out from under the shelf, too busy shaking in fear, she sighed and muttered something, her grin stretching wider as he yelped when ropes of magic wrapped him up gently and tugged him out into her arms. He barely saw Ciri’s confused face or Téa’s look of surprise as the witch swept an overdramatic curtsey to them both and swept from the room in a swirl of black and white lace. 

Sweet Melitele, this witch was crazier than he was at this point.


	16. I’m here and I’m alive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier gets a handy potion to take.

Triss was ridiculously proud of the putrid smelling mess she had concocted. Like all of the things that Vilgefortz had forced Jaskier to consume, this potion had the dragon’s stomach rolling and threatening to empty itself onto Yennefer’s dress. It looked rather like it had already been vomited out by someone already and the idea that Jaskier would be made to ingest it made him want to hide back under the bookshelf he had been under before. Unfortunately, it didn’t look like Jaskier would have a chance to get out of Yennefer’s grasp at any point in the near future. 

Triss approached him with her beaker of vomit, grinning at him as if he should be pleased to be given such a treat to enjoy. He snarled at her, ignoring the way Yennefer poked his side in rebuke. 

“Here we are, Jaskier. This should have you feeling much better,” she said cheerfully, holding it up to his mouth. He looked desperately around for some way to avoid this but between Triss’ almost manic enthusiasm and Yennefer’s violet eyes almost daring him to put up a fuss, he decided that the best move would be to meekly accept his face and force down the potion. 

It tasted just as bad as it looked, making Jaskier retch pathetically once he managed to choke it all down. The two mages just looked at him expectantly, clearly waiting for something to happen now that he had taken their supposed cure. 

He blinked back at them, trying to supress the urge to pull a face at their impatience. He didn’t want to get hurt, even if there was a growing part of him that was suddenly sure that this was actually real and he was finally free of Vilgefortz. 

He held their gaze for a moment before a strange sensation crept through him, as if he had been watching the world and everything that happened to him behind a pane of glass that twisted and warped everything he saw. Colour seemed more natural and everything felt much more vivid, the apathy seeming to lessen slightly as he watched a satisfied smile slink across Yennefer’s face. 

“There we are,” she said, sounding far too pleased with herself. “Fine work as usual, Triss. He should be able to cope with the others much better now.” 

With that, she strode out into the hallway and let out a piercing whistle, the volume and pitch of it far too loud and high to be anything other than magically assisted. Jaskier heard several voices raised in yells of complaints before it seemed like they all started converging on the room they were in. 

Téa was first in the room, moving quickly to stand over Jaskier with a protective gleam in her eyes. She tentatively reached out to him and the side of her mouth twisted when he was unable to help the flinch he made at the unexpected movement so close to his face. He watched her carefully as she seemed to resolve herself, gently resting her hand on his back in a show of support. 

As much as the contact made the stupid animal part of his brain panic at the memory of pain and punishment that had been his normal for so long, Jaskier wanted nothing more than to cling to the idea that Téa would be able to protect him like she so clearly wanted to. He wanted to pretend that the Zerrikanian women would be able to keep him safe and out of Vilgefortz’s hands, but when had his luck ever held out that well. 

Her sister was the next in the room,. Véa quickly moved to stand beside Téa, her eyes swimming with emotion even as she tried to keep her face blank. She also reached out to gently run a finger down Jaskier’s back as if trying to reassure herself that he was here and unharmed. A shiver ran down his spine as her finger did and he hated the look of pain that brought to her eyes. 

“Why did you call for us? Has he been harmed?” Téa asked in her usual no nonsense tone. She looked at the two witches, her hand twitching towards the swords that she had refused to stop wearing around the keep when the witchers had assured the two women that there was no need to remain so heavily armed in the winter stronghold. 

Triss pulled a face even as Yennefer scoffed at the other woman’s concern. 

“He is fine,” Yennefer said snippily, aiming for nonchalance as she fussed with the sleeves of her black lace dress even as concern flickered across her face whenever she looked at the dragon. “Anyone would think you were expecting us to try and poison the scaly nuisance. Triss has just managed to neutralise the potion that he had in his system when we found him. It should help him to settle a bit more now that he doesn’t have all of those hallucinogens in him. I’ve dipped into his mind a few times and he is convinced that all of this is just one more hallucination, so this should help to get it through his tiny little brain that we are all real and that he is away from that disgusting hovel we found him in.” 

The two women standing over Jaskier shared a meaningful look before nodding at each other. 

“Good,” Véa said decisively. “Miss Merigold, may we ask you to send a message to someone important to Julian? We need to make sure that he is able to find us and that he is not worrying unnecessarily.” 

They all ignored Yennefer’s protests that she had sent a message to Borch, Véa and Triss moving to stand together in a corner and bending their heads together as they talked. Téa smirked at the scowl on the raven haired mages face, her amusement only growing when there was a swirl of magic from Triss and Yennefer started swearing under her breath. 

They were interrupted by the arrival of several witchers, Lambert, Eskel, and Coën rounding the corner and barrelling into the room in a mass of shoving limbs. The three were focused for a moment on pushing each other around and didn’t notice all four women turning to sigh in resignation at their behaviour. 

“So good of you to join us,” Yennefer snarked at the three of them. 

Lambert in particular bristled at her tone. 

“Well, you did whistle, your royal highness. Who are we but humble wolves to come when called,” he said in a syrupy tone, his eyes flashing with annoyance. 

Eskel sighed and cuffed him over the head while Coën shook his head in disgust. 

“Ignore this idiot. What happened? Geralt heard you whistle and almost lost his mind. Vesemir is keeping him distracted with some drills in case the news is bad while Ciri watches. She thinks it's hilarious, just wait until he has her up on the Pendulum.” 

Jaskier drooped at Eskel’s words despite himself. He knew he shouldn’t have been expecting Geralt to care, the mad hadn’t been near him in days so why would he care? It still hurt though, regardless of the ways that Jaskier tried to reassure himself that this was all constructed by Vilgefortz to hurt him and the real Geralt would never abandon him like that. 

Téa stroked his back reassuringly, making a small soothing noise under her breath and glaring at Lambert. 

Yennefer glared at Lambert before dismissing him and turning to look at Eskel. “Well, it was your idiot brother I was after in the first place, but I shouldn’t be surprised by his reaction, I suppose. Jaskier should be a bit better, so he may benefit from being surrounded by the people he knows and trusts while he heals. I am sure that these two lovely ladies would prefer to lock him away in a tower like a princess until Borch arrives, but I refuse to allow them to indulge that bard’s theatrical tendencies to such a degree. Besides, when I last saw them together on that mountain top, they did seem rather ... codependent.” 

The three witchers sniggered at the description of their brother, not seeing the way that Jaskier shrank into himself at the reminder of that awful day on the mountain. While the three men joined Yennefer in sharing insults about the missing witcher, Téa picked up Jaksier and pulled him close to her chest. 

“Do not dwell on it, Julian,” she whispered to him. She shook her head when Véa turned to look at her questioningly, allowing her sister to turn back to where she was talking with the blue eyed mage. “You know that there are people who care for you and want you in their life. Villentretenmerth and Saesenthessis will be here soon. Villentretenmerth wanted to ensure that you were not overwhelmed with too many people hovering, especially with Saesenthessis. Once she arrives, I doubt that you will have a moment to yourself. She has been quite distressed over your disappearance, it has been all we can do to keep her from charging off to try and find you.”

Jaskier couldn’t stop the whine that escaped him at the thought of Saskia. He had missed her so gods damned much and to think about her upset over what had happened to him was horrific. The new clarity with which he could see the world after ingesting the potion also brought his emotions closer to the surface and he was having a hard time trying to retreat into the apathetic state he had used to escape Vilgefortz’s machinations for so long. 

Sweet Melitele, what he wouldn’t give to be able to see his Saskia again, to make sure that she was safe and happy and that she was still that ball of wonder and enthusiasm that he had left behind. It would crush him if his kidnapping had hurt her in any way. He didn’t want her to think that he had abandoned her or anything, but he also didn’t want her to see him like this. 

He was a broken shell of the man, the dragon, that he had been. Vilgefortz had managed to crush the man that he had so carefully constructed once he was free of his mother’s control and he hated the meek, terrified mess that remained. How was he meant to face Borch and Saskia after this? How could he bear to have them see the pathetic remnants of the man that they had known? It was bad enough with Geralt avoiding him and Téa and Véa feeling as if they had to watch over him at every moment, how much worse would it be to see the disappointment in Borch’s eyes, the pain and loss in Saskia’s? 

Jaskier was jolted from his thoughts when Téa was slammed into by Lambert, who seemed to have been shoved across the room by Yennefer’s magic for saying something about her being nothing more than a pretty face. Both Eskel and Coën were desperately trying to seperate themselves from the situation, with poor Lambert now being glared at by Yennefer and an unimpressed Téa who was not happy with being run into. 

With the lack of tact that Jaskier had heard so much about from Geralt, Lambert immediately puffed himself up and started going off about how Yennefer was just another puffed up sorceress, good for nothing but fucking kings and making messes that witchers would have to come in an clean up. The other witchers were trying to get him to stop talking, Coën being licked on the hand when he tried to cover the younger witcher’s mouth and Eskel pulling him into a headlock and dragging him from the room while Yennefer glared daggers at the three of them. 

Jaskier couldn’t stop the chuckle he gave at their antics, their behaviour reminding him of some of the shit he had been pulled out of by Geralt in the past. He blinked in surprise when everyone in the room froze and stared at him in shock. 

“Did he just...” Coën said from where he was standing in the doorway trying to pry Lambert's fingers from the frame. Eskel loosened his grasp on Lambert’s neck in shock, but the younger witcher barely noticed as he also stared at the dragon.

“The collar must have been dampening his magic,” Véa muttered to herself. 

Yennefer made an intrigued noise, already grabbing the collar from where they had dropped it onto a shelf and poking at it in fascination. 

“How interesting. Ladies, if you would keep your dragon entertained for a while, I would appreciate it. Triss, come and look at this. I hadn’t even noticed the strands of dimeritium woven throughout and some of this spellwork.” 

The mages were immediately focused on their task and the Zerrikanians took the opportunity to grab Jaskier and push their way past the witchers out of the room. 

“Téa, Véa,” Eskel called after the women as they prepared to go up to their rooms. “Rather than retreating, would you care for a game of Gwent? From what Geralt has told us, your friend there seems to have been a rather sociable type. He may benefit from spending more time around people without being poked and prodded.” 

The two women shared another silent look, their preferred way to communicate it seemed, before Véa nodded and led the way down to the hall. 

“Be warned,” she called over her shoulder. “I am not going to go easy on you just because you are men. We will have to show Jaskier just how a game is played, sister. I seem to remember him complaining that whenever he would watch Geralt play, they would more likely than not be thrown from the inn before the game was finished. We shall have to teach him how to play like a Zerrikanian.”


	17. I know I don’t belong

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier is now free of the potions effects.

Jaskier hadn’t seen someone that he could be sure was a hallucination since he had taken the potion. It was starting to really worry him, the idea that maybe this was all real and everyone was seeing just how broken and pathetic he was. It was why he was allowing himself to be held by Téa as she and her sister wiped the floor with Eskel, Lambert, and Coën at Gwent. 

As they played, he sat on her lap, frozen like a bunny in the open. He could feel the questioning looks that the others sent him from time to time, but he just needed a moment to process all of this. They tried to coax him into their conversations, Lambert in particular trying to convince Jaskier to let him know what cards the woman holding him had, but he refused to engage with them. If he acknowledged them all, if he started talking to them and answering their questions about what had happened, then he might as well admit that he was a disgrace and a failure and that when he had been put in a dangerous system he folded with all the resistance of a flower petal. 

That wasn’t to say that he wasn’t watching everything that went on in the room. He couldn’t help the way his eyes kept drifting to the doorway, hoping to see a particular witcher as if he thought that he would be safe with him. He couldn’t stop the stupid part of his brain that still saw Geralt as his protector, as the man who had kept him safe from various monsters for years and made sure that he was never in any real discomfort, as much as he had complained about the bard’s need for comfort and luxury at every opportunity. 

But if they were right and this wasn’t all some elaborate scheme of Vilgefortz’s, as Jaksier was coming to suspect, then Jaskier would have to admit that Geralt had taken one look at him, reacted with more horror than Jaskier had ever seen on the man’s face, and then avoided him like the plague. The very thought of it had Jaskier letting out what he had thought was a silent sob, but the way that all eyes in the room flicked to him and then politely looked away had him thinking that he had accidentally broadcast his pain for all to hear. It wasn’t like this day could get any fucking better. 

Of course, the universe had to prove him wrong at that very moment.

Ciri came darting into the room, jumping around and telling everyone excitedly how Vesemir had let her use a metal training sword rather than the wooden one she had been working with so far. The witchers immediately started congratulating her, ignoring Vesemir as he strode in with a rather hangdog looking Geralt trailing behind him. 

“Ah, so our smallest guest seems to be feeling a bit better. Ciri, go get some food for yourself and Jaskier, I am sure you are both hungry after today’s excitement.” Vesemir messed up the girls hair, a small smile lifting his lips as she sighed dramatically and took off for the kitchens at top speed, pirouetting and slashing at imaginary enemies as she went. Vesemir moved to sit at the table beside Téa, an annoyed sound slipping from him when Geralt went to slink up the stairs and away from everyone else. 

Geralt stood awkwardly in the doorway, his eyes flickering from Vesemir to the stairs and back before he turned and joined them at the table. He looked around at everyone but Jaskier. 

“So... Gwent?” he said, turning desperate eyes on Eskel. The other witcher sighed before grabbing the cards and shuffling his hand. 

“Fine, you absolute coward. Lambert, Coën, ladies, are you all in? Shall we make a proper tournament of this?” 

The others all nodded their assent, the Zerrikanians in particular getting a rather bloodthirsty look in their eyes for people about to play a card game. Jaskier was glad, it took the attention away from the way that Geralt was trying to pretend that there was not a dragon sitting at the same table as him and wincing every time his eyes strayed to glance at the place where Jaskier had his chin resting on the table so that he could watch the game. 

It hurt, but Jaskier was determined not to let anyone see it. He had had enough of being the weak link, the one that everyone had to pander to. So what if he felt like he was broken into tens of thousands of tiny pieces that would never be put back together, he didn’t need to make this something that others felt responsible for. 

He just needed to play along with them all for as long as it took to get his strength back. He knew that his imprisonment had most likely had a severe impact on his strength and stamina. Hopefully, some time at the keep would allow him to build it all back up and then he would be able to find somewhere safe where he would not have to worry about Vilgefortz or anyone else. 

The more he accepted that this was not a hallucination, that this was true and real and he was far away from that gods awful hole where he had been kept, the more he thought of what VIlgefortz would do once he realised that his science experiment had been taken from him. He was sure that the mage would be beyond pissed and was glad that he wouldn’t be there to see the initial reaction. The only problem was, what would he do once he realised who had helped Jaskier? 

He wasn’t stupid enough to think that the mage wouldn’t be able to find him again, especially given that he was still stuck in his draconid form. At least if he figured out how to shift back to his human form, he might have a chance at confusing the man if he managed to track him down. Being able to alter his shape might alter him enough that the mage would be unable to track him down, but it was a very slim chance to pin all of his hopes on. 

“Honestly Jaskier, how is it that you are even stupider now then you were when I first met you? Do you honestly think that we will allow you to go running off into the wilderness by yourself to get kidnapped again after all of this. I am not going to continue performing miracles just to let you live out your little fantasy of being the noble one who saves the people he loves by living out a life of solitude.” 

Yennefer came sailing into the room, Triss not far behind her, and ruined all of his plans. 

The others acted just how he would have expected, all of them immediately starting to yell and get increasingly agitated at the thought of him running away. Téa immediately had him in a rather tight grip as if she thought that he would take off running right at that moment. The witchers were all too busy yelling at each other, none of them noticed the way that Jaskier was staring at Geralt where he sat staring down at his hands. 

The dragon had a million thoughts whirring through his head at that moment, thoughts of how he could still get away, how he could burn every one of those gods damned black dresses to get back at that witch for blowing all his plans, how the hell it was that she would be able to find out exactly what he was thinking at any moment but also was completely unaware of who it was that had kidnapped him, but there was only one that was drowning them all out. All he could think of was how absolutely crushed Geralt looked and how once Jaskier would have done anything within his power to wipe that look from his face. But things were different now, he was different, and he needed to look out for them all in the only way he knew how. 

He needed to make sure that Vilgefortz would never touch any of them ever again and he had no idea how he was going to do it. How the hell was he supposed to keep a mage away from them all, keep them safe from all the pain that Jaskier knew first hand he was able to inflict, while also not getting caught back up in the shit storm that had been his life for far too long. Sweet Melitele, he never wanted to go back to that place. 

“Jaskier, stop looking like a love sick little puppy and look at me when I’m talking to you. You are not going anywhere, even if I sick one of these mutts on you as a guard until Borch can come and collect you. He asked me to find you and deliver you to him safe and I am not breaking my word just because you have decided to stick your nose into as much trouble as you possibly can,” Yennefer started lecturing, glaring at the witchers until they made room for her and Triss at the table. It would have been amusing to watch the grown, rough looking men looking so chastised by someone so much smaller than them, but Yennefer exuded power and charisma. 

Jaskier tried to make himself smaller, tried to hide against Téa, under her scrutiny. How the fuck was he meant to keep any kind of secrets around someone like Yennefer. 

“Julian, why would you want to run? I swear to you, Téa and I will not allow you to be taken again,” Véa said insistently. 

Jaskier sighed, turning to look at her. 

“I’m sorry, Véa, I am,” he said, hating that everyone could hear just how pathetic and small his voice was. “But I can’t let you be hurt, I don’t want you all getting caught up in this all because of me. He will find me, he will, and he will hurt you.” 

There was an awful hush in the room as they all looked at him. He saw Yennefer trying to stay casual, inspecting her nails as if that would hide the way she was sneaking looks at him every few seconds. The only eyes that stubbornly refused to latch onto him were the only ones he wanted. 

“I found some food!” Ciri chirped as she came flying into the room with bowls of stew in her hands. The food was sloshing rather precariously in the bowls but she somehow managed to dart her way over to the table at top speed without spilling any. “Jaskier, I hope you like venison stew, it’s all Vesemir ever seems to make. I made sure to put extra helpings of meat in yours, because Geralt said that you were hurt and we needed to make sure that you were strong again and why is everyone staring at me? Were you in the middle of something?” 

Jaskier let out a sound that he refused to describe as a meep and almost fell off of Téa’s lap as he recoiled from the bowl suddenly slammed onto the table in front of him and the big green eyes that were only inches from his face just as unexpectedly. The girl knelt beside Téa, peering at Jaskier in fascination. 

“Geralt told me so much about you, Jaskier, but he never said that you were a dragon. Can you breathe fire? Can you fly super high? If you set someone in black armour on fire do you think that you would be able to cook them alive?” 

Jaskier looked around the room in panic, trying to figure out how he was meant to deal with a young girl who looked both ready to murder someone and also on the verge of tears. Coën came to his rescue, swooping Ciri up into a bear hug and swinging her around so that she squealed in joy. 

“Come on, princess, come sit with us and eat your stew. Jaskier needs a moment to adjust to all of us before you start with all the questions, so you will have plenty of time to tell us all of the uses for sewant mushrooms that Vesemir has been teaching you.” 

The girl sighed and shot another inquisitive look to Jaskier before allowing herself to be carried off. Jaskier was both pleased to see her go and also terrified of what it would mean for him given the way that the two mages, the Zerrikanians, and all of the witchers not occupied with the young princess were staring at him. 

Shit. It looked like he hadn’t managed to escape the inquisition just yet. 


	18. When you scream I’m not alright

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The witchers want to know who hurt Jaskier.

“Jaskier, Geralt led us to believe that you are a rather intelligent man,” Vesemir said calmly. Jakier glanced over the table to see the tops of Geralt’s ears turning slightly pink while his fellow wolves elbowed him and sniggered at some inside joke. “I am struggling to reconcile that with what I am hearing from you right now. Are you really stupid enough to think that we are the kinds of people who need or want protecting from a threat?” 

Jaskier tried to make himself as small as possible, the sound of a man yelling bringing back awful phantom pains and memories of Vilgefortz looming over him. He hated the way a shiver started running up and down his body and the pathetic noise that escaped him, but he couldn’t seem to find the mask of confidence that he had once worn so comfortably. 

“Vesemir,” Geralt rumbled, his eyes flashing at the older witcher even as they stayed away from Jaskier as if his life depended on it. 

Vesemir scoffed at him, rolling his eyes and dismissing the other man’s concern. 

“Jaskier can speak for himself, Geralt. Treating him like a child will help no one.” 

The witcher fixed those bright golden eyes onto him, an eyebrow raised in his weathered face as he waited for Jaskier to answer him. 

The young dragon steeled himself and forced himself to answer. 

“I don’t care how strong you are or how used to defending yourselves you are. He ... the things that happened there. He can’t do that to you, he can’t know that any of you helped me.” 

He started hyperventilating, his throat filling with flames as if to defend himself even as they took up room that he needed to breathe. He hated it, hated the way that it made the room swim a bit and his head go fuzzy, hated the way that the others in the room looked at him in concern and Téa and Véa made uncomfortable sounds and started hovering over him. 

“Julian, no. You will never go back there. Villentretenmerth will never allow you to be in danger like that again. We will keep you safe,” Téa said, her voice as solemn as her face. 

“Vesemir was right,” Yennefer said in a catty voice. “Babying him will help no one. Jaskier, stop being ridiculous and just tell us who it was. I haven’t been able to find them in your mind. I figure your fear has been clouding the memories in an attempt to help you to cope, but that is not going to be useful when we go and make this son of a bitch pay.” 

The witchers in the room made agreeing noises, Lambert going so far as to crack his knuckles menacingly. The mages shot each other entertained looks, clearly amused at the almost instinctual response to the promise of violence that the four men had. 

“Yennefer, no,” Jaskier said, shaking his head frantically. “You can’t go looking for him, you can’t make him mad. When he’s mad, it hurts so much and there’s no way to avoid it. Please no, Yennefer, I don’t want it to hurt again, please.” 

He couldn’t stop the way that he dissolved into hopeless sobs, his breath catching and hitching as he tried to block the memories from his mind. Gods, he couldn’t allow Vilgefortz to touch them, to touch any of them. It wasn’t fair for them to have to suffer just because they knew him, because they had decided to help him. 

There was a low growl from across the table and he looked up to see Geralt’s bright eyes, those eyes that had always reminded him of the sun when it gleamed against a brilliant blue sky. The man was almost vibrating in his anger, looking like he was about to launch across the table at Yennefer like some kind of wild animal. 

“Calm down, wolf,” Eskel muttered, resting a calming hand on his fellow witcher’s shoulder. “I am sure that the mage doesn’t mean anything by it, she just wants to help your bard as much as you do.” 

Geralt continues to growl, seeming to vibrate with his emotions before he pushed past Eskel and stormed from the room. Jaskier flicked his eyes to see Yennefer smirking to herself, watching Geralt leave before turning to look at Jaskier. 

“We can do this the easy way or the fun way, Jaskier. Now either tell me the name of the mage that kept you prisoner, or I am going to have to go snooping through your little brain to find it and then I’m going to get those stupid songs of yours stuck in him head for hours.” She bared her teeth at him in a smile, ignoring the way that Triss made a cautioning noise where she sat beside her. The other mage did not seem to agree with her friend’s more direct approach, but also wasn’t about to stop her. 

Jaskier studied his claws for a moment, trying to force down the instinctual panic at the idea of anyone knowing who had hurt him like this. Intellectually, he knew that if there was anyone on this Continent who would be able to face that man, then they were in this room, but gods he was afraid. It was like he could feel the bars of the cage closing in around him, encircling his lungs so that each breath was a harsh rasp in the quiet of the room. 

Fuck this shit. He wasn’t going to allow that bastard to strip away every last inch of the man he had been. He had been Jaskier, the famous Oxenfurt trained bard, master of the seven liberal arts and friend to witchers. He was not going to allow himself to cower like a kicked dog at even the thought of the mage. 

“His name was ... he called himself ...” Jaskier tried to force the words from his mouth, but every time he started to say the name, he felt his throat slam shut. He choked, trying desperately to get it out now, but only succeeded in cutting off his ari long enough that his eyes widened in panic. 

“Yennefer,” he managed to croak out pitefully. 

The mage immediately picked him up from Téa’s lap, depositing him on the table and then sitting so that her eyes were level with his. Her violet eyes bored into his, blocking out the rest of the world as he tried to push the name Vilgefortz from his mind to hers. 

Yennefer narrowed her eyes in frustration, her face getting closer and closer to Jaskier’s until her forehead rested against his and her scowling face was all he could see. SHe held his gaze for several minutes before pulling away and swearing creatively and in depth enough to make the four witchers blush. 

“That fucking cockhair has managed to enchant his name. The only way I would be able to identify him is if I am willing to rip your mind into shreds in the process and I spent far too long trying to fix you to allow that to happen. Conniving fucking piece of nekker shit.” 

Triss flicked an apologetic look at the witchers before taking the swearing woman by the shoulders and gently guiding her upstairs, already muttering to her about various methods they could try to get around the enchantment. They could hear Yennefer’s continued swearing echoing down the hall, and it had them all frozen in shock for a few moments as everyone stared in bemusement at the corridor they had left through. 

“So,” Eskel said in the quiet. “Jaskier can’t tell us who took him. Sounds like this is a more interesting hunt than we had been led to believe. Where did you find him again, Véa? Once the winter is over, we can go and see what tracks are left behind. It's a real shit that it’s coming into winter now, but there’s nothing we can do about it now.” 

Vesemir hummed thoughtfully. “I am sure that those mages we seem to have taken in for the season would be able to portal over and take you boys for a look around. Might save the weather destroying any tracks, and I’m sure none of you would be able to recognise any magical equipment that might have been used in the way those girls would.” 

“They had Julian in a manor in Touissant, one of those pretentious assholes was keeping him as a pet and allowing the mage to injure him. If you are going to look for these people, one of us will accompany you. We are more familiar with dragons than you, there may be things that you miss.” Véa looked around at them expectantly, her lips quirking in a small grin when Vesemir nodded at her. 

“With any luck, Yennefer will calm herself soon and will be able to portal you all over. Prepare to leave tomorrow, that should give her time to get herself under control. How that idiot pup of mine managed to find the most headstrong and arrogant mage on the bloody Continent, I will never know. The gods only know what possessed him to get all caught up with this kind of crap again.” 

Lambert made a rude noise and started making gestures with his hand that earned him a slap over the head from Vesemir, while Eskel choked on his laughter. 

Jaskier tried to hide his own grin at that. He could remember the first time that Geralt had met the crazy witch, how easily swayed Geralt had been by the idea of someone who had enough power that he would never have to worry about them. It had been so good to see Geralt lose that constant worry, to see him start to open up to someone. 

As much as Jaskier had loved, still loved Geralt, it had been beautiful to watch Geralt begin to trust that not everyone in life was terrified of him and his strength. The witcher had thought Jaskier human, so he had treated him as such. Geralt had spent a large amount of his term trying to make sure that the bard didn’t accidentally go off and get himself killed or hurt, which wasn’t exactly conducive to a good relationship. 

Maybe what had happened to Jaskier would be good for Geralt in a way. Now that he had seen just how pathetic Jaskier was, he might not feel as if he had to waste his time protecting him. He could spend his time with Yennefer and Ciri, make a family with them and have the kind of love and happiness that he so deserved in his life. It would be for the best, and then Jaskier could leave and find a place to hide from Vilgefortz knowing that the love of his life was happy and safe. 

The witchers immediately pulled Téa and Véa into a discussion about how they would proceed the next day, what they would need to look out for and the logistics of trying to find this particular mage. Jaskier blocked them out, focusing instead on Ciri sitting at the other end of the table with Coën as she ate her food. She turned to look at him before muttering something to Coën and then coming over to where he sat on Téa’s lap. 

“May Jaskier come and sit with us? He hasn’t eaten any of his food and I want to talk to him and see if he has any stories about Geralt that he can tell me.” Ciri batted her eyelashes at the Zerrikanian, trying to look as sweet as possible.

After looking down at Jaskier as if to check for his consent, she nodded and lifted Jaskier onto the table. He looked around hesitantly, watching Ciri grab his bowl and move it down to where she had been sitting. At her encouraging look, he skittered down the table as quickly as possible, unable to resist the urge to shove his face into the bowl and start gulping down the food as if it would be taken from him at any moment. 

He knew it was a reaction from the times that Vilgefortz had starved him, knew that it was just another way that he was so much less than the man he had been, but it made him want to curl up and cry, especially when Ciri started trying to reassure him that there would be plenty more food and that he would make himself sick eating like this. 

Gods, how fucked up was he when a runaway princess who seemed to have lost her family was having to reassure him? 


	19. Love’s worth running to

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Family reunion.

The first signs of their arrival were less than discrete. He could smell the brimstone and smoke, hear Borch and Saskia calling out for him as loudly as they could project. Within moments he could hear the witchers calling out in alarm, clearly not expecting to see a huge golden dragon approaching the keep at top speed. 

Téa and Véa came to collect him, carrying him out onto the battlements even when he tried to wriggle his way out of their grasp. They were both far too pleased to see the man they protected, they barely noticed the way that distress almost oozed from every pore on his body. 

He had wanted to see Borch for so long, dreamed about being rescued by him and seeing Saskia and the man who had cared for him in one of his darkest moments. It had been one of the thoughts that he had clung to when his imprisonment first started, and now he was terrified that the man would see him, would see what Vilgefortz had made of him. 

How could he face him, how could he let Borch see just what a disappointment he was. He had given up, he had allowed Vilgefortz to break him and abuse him and turn him into a pathetic little animal that only existed to do what it was told, too scared of punishment to even dare to try and escape. He couldn’t look Borch in the eye after that. The man was one of the strongest people he had ever known. Jaskier didn’t know if he could stand seeing one more person that he ... cared for barely able to look at him. 

He wasn’t given much of a choice in the matter, as the two Zerrikanians waved down Borch and gestured to the courtyard as the only place in the keep where he would have room to land. Jaskier could see Saskia emerging from the safety of Borch’s claws and he couldn’t help the small pangs of envy that shot through his chest. 

The two women grinned at each other, as much as they ever did, and quickly made their way downstairs, the others in the keep joining them until they all burst out into the courtyard to face the large golden dragon looking monstrously big with Saskia bounding around his feet in agitation and calling for Jaskier. They looked even more impressive than he had remembered, their scales glimmering in the winter sunlight so that they stood out from the snow that coated the ground. 

Jaskier could hear the witchers muttering to themselves about how big Borch was and giving Geralt shit for not noticing that the man was a dragon. Ciri was tugging excitedly at Yennefer and Triss’ hands, blurting questions about the dragons as fast as she could. It should have been a perfect reunion, Jaksier diving gleefully into the loving embrace of the man who had seen more in him than the disappointment that he had thought he was. Instead, Jaskier wanted nothing more than to be far away from here, somewhere where he would never have to see Saskia’s reaction to what had happened to him. 

A pained whimper escaped him at the thought and Saskia’s head snapped around, her eyes locking onto him as she let out a trill of excitement. She launched herself through the air at Téa, clambering up onto her shoulder and hooking her long neck around her shoulder so that she could press her head against Jaskier’s. She made a pained noise when he recoiled from her touch, looking to Borch in her confusion. 

“Father, why does Jaskier smell of pain?” 

There was an audible inhale across the courtyard as everyone suddenly seemed to find their hands absolutely fascinating or noticed a loose thread on their sleeves that required all of their concentration. Borch made a rumbling noise that had Saskia blinking at him in confusion before shoving her nose even closer to Jaskier and taking another deep breath to make a point. 

“Saesenthessis,” he said, his voice sending shudders down Jaskier’s spine. “Give your brother some space. You could at least pretend that you have the decency to introduce yourself before you are all over him. Let me maintain the illusion that you were brought up with some manners.” 

Borch sighed, his huge form rippling until instead of a large dragon there was the same mild looking older man that had first met Jaskier so long ago. 

“Julian, hatchling.” He quickly strode forward to take him from Téa, not acknowledging the way he resisted with anything more than a slight frown. “I am so proud of you, my son.” 

That was the final straw as far as Jaskier was concerned. He completely lost it, dissolving into tears like some lovesick maiden from one of his soppier ballads. He couldn’t stop the way they kept pouring from his eyes, blurring his vision and clamping his throat shut so that he released awful choked sobs. 

Borch was crooning something to him, his voice rumbling in a way that no human vocal cords could ever reproduce. It was enough to help him focus slightly, to stop the flood of emotions sweeping him away completely. He could hear the witchers muttering awkwardly to each other in discomfort and Triss hissing at them to show a little compassion, but his world was focused on three sounds. Borch’s steadily beating heart in the chest he was pressed against so tightly, the soothing rumble of his words, and Saskia’s piping voice joining in with the a more musical lilt as she settled herself on her father’s shoulders so that she could rest her head on Jaskier’s back. 

It took a long time for the flood of tears to abate. Borch held him close throughout it, his calm presence anchoring Jaskier in the here and now and stopping him from slipping into the memories that clawed at his ankles. He tried to nuzzle even closer into the man’s chest, not wanting to leave the small space that he had found where he finally felt safe, especially not to face the man and see that the comfort he needed so desperately was all a lie or would disappear once Borch knew just how low he had sunk. 

“Hatchling, I am so sorry,” Borch said, his voice dripping with pain and regret. 

Jaskier let out a squeak, the admission startling him out of his own misery. 

“Why would you be sad? I was the one who gave up. I let him break me and turn me into nothing more than an animal. I just, I couldn’t do it anymore. I couldn’t wait for you to save me or find a way to escape or save myself. All I could do was scream and cry.” 

Borch made a wounded noise, lifting a hand to pat at Saskia when she let out a small sound at Jaskier’s admission. He was glad that the others had all started talking amongst themselves, not comfortable with them all seeing him at such a low moment. He supposed that meant his infamous pride wasn’t completely destroyed, it wasn’t like he had been afforded much privacy during his imprisonment. 

“Julian, you have nothing to apologise for. I should have found you sooner. I should have never let you go out without someone looking out for you, but you were so excited and confident, I couldn’t bear to see you stifled the way I feared your mother would have done. Gods, there are so many things that I should have done, but none of that matters now. All that matters is making sure that you are safe and happy.”

Jaskier blinked back a fresh wave of tears, daring to raise his head enough to look up into Borch’s eyes. The man’s face bore the marks of his concern, new wrinkles having creased the skin around his eyes and forehead since Jaskier had seen him last. He hated the signs that he had worried the man who acted as father figure for him almost as much as he relished in the proof that someone cared for him.It was a heady mix of feelings that left him wordless, peering up at Borch and Saskia pleadingly. 

“I looked for you, Julek, I looked and looked and looked but I couldn’t find you,” Saskia said in a small voice. “I thought you were hiding, that we were playing a game, but then Father got quiet and worried and I knew that you would never hide from me for that long. Father said a bad man had taken you, but you don’t have to worry anymore. I would never let someone take you again.” 

She clambered down around Borch’s shoulders, dropping her weight on top of Jaskier and snuggling against him like they had back in the caves. He couldn’t stop his instinctive response to her, tension bleeding out of his muscles as she let out a small growling purr and started kneading at his shoulders with her little pinprick claws. She was bigger than when he had last seen him, only slightly smaller than he had been when he first transformed now. 

He could feel his heart falling apart in his chest, the sobs choking him again. How could he be so stupid? How could he put them in a position like this where they had to go through the pain of caring for an idiot like him? Gods, he was just a curse for everyone that cared about him. 

Yennefer hissed her annoyance, striding over to tap him gently on the snout. 

“Stop with the theatrics, bard,” she said, her voice much sharper than her eyes. “Borch, you will have your hands full with this one. He is rather prone to these fits of self loathing. I can’t comment on if this is a new development or a more long term problem, but it is rather frustrating to see the person that you expend so much energy and magic rescuing and nursing back to health has decided that all of your efforts were not worth the time. Perhaps you will be able to make the idiot see sense and get him back to his usual ridiculous self.” 

Borch blinked at her placidly. 

“Thank you for your concern, Yennefer. I see that you have found a new way to achieve that which you desire, but I will remind you that Jaskier is mine to parent, not yours. I suggest you content yourself with the young girl there, she seems much more willing to accept your care.” 

Yennefer shot him a nasty look at that, unimpressed with his censorship. Triss stepped forward, resting a hand on her arm and smiling at Borch. 

“My name is Triss Merigold, I helped to heal Jaskier here. If there is any way I can help with anything, I would be more than happy to oblige. Jaskier here is rather adorable and I would so love to meet him as the man that I have heard so much about.” 

Jaskier looked at her in confusion, not sure why she was suddenly trying to be so friendly with him. She went to reach out and touch him, and he let out a small hiss. Borch stepped back and a scowl slipped across Triss’ face as she looked back at the witchers, her cornflower blue eyes fixing onto Geralt. 

Ah, so that was her angle. He could see the appeal, but was Geralt some kind of mage catnip? The powerful women seemed to be drawn to him and even if he was the kind of man he had pretended to be for so long, he would never be able to compete with them for the man’s affections. 

Saskia made a small laughing noise where her head rested on his back, ignoring the way that Borch rolled his shoulders under her in reproach.

“Julek, you will have to introduce me to all of your friends. Which one is the witcher that you told me so much about and who is the harlot that you kept singing about?” 

There was enough of the man that he had been to know that the way that violet eyes narrowed at him probably meant that he was about to be turned into a rather stylish golden corset or something for his comments. The noise that escaped him had Borch and the Zerrikanian women tipping their heads back to laugh at his predicament. 


	20. Release or respite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The dragons get reacquainted.

Borch and Saskia fit into the keep in a way that Jaskier never would have expected. Borch and Vesemir seemed to get on like a house on fire. The two men were frequently seen together, watching the others from the distance and sharing stories of the good old days. The other witchers complained about it, protesting some of the particularly embarrassing stories and jumping in to add even worse ones about their brothers to try and distract from them. 

Jaskier wasn’t terribly excited about some of the stories either. He didn’t particularly want Borch to be sharing some of the things that he had done while in the cave with them all, but there was a strange warmth in his chest at the thought that someone in the world cared for him enough to share those kinds of stories about him. 

Saskia had surprised Jaskier, quickly telling Jaskier that she was going to have her very own witcher and proceeding to follow Eskel and Lambert around like a scaly golden puppy. To their bemusement, every moment she wasn’t spending with Jaskier was spent riding around on the two witchers’ shoulders chattering away to them about all the things she would do once she was old enough to go travelling like they did. The two men reacted with a rather entertaining mix of confusion and pride, each trying to outdo the other with tales of their most exciting hunts and promises for future adventures that they would take her on. 

The two mages had retreated back into their rooms, seemingly content with some books that they had found in one of the many rooms in the keep that looked as if it had been abandoned years ago and secreted away under the watchful eyes of Vesemir. They made noises about letting him know if there were any discoveries about the process of making witchers, but seemed far more interested in the volumes that focused on how chaos could be manipulated and enhanced in humans. They had no time for the other mutations that allowed witchers to have a fighting chance against the various monsters they were paid to kill, much more interested in the magical components of the change. 

Jaskier was left a lot of the time with the two Zerrikanian women, not that he was complaining. The two women hovered over him as if they were terrified to let him out of their sight. While he felt as if should feel smothered or something, he found himself relying on their constant presence to make him feel safe. He hated the fact that he felt so exposed all the time, as if at any moment Vilgefortz would step out of the shadows and carry him back to that gods awful room. Having Téa and Véa so close all the time made him feel that little bit safer and he wasn’t above relying on them for now. 

The one person that he knew would give him comfort continued to avoid him though. He was not yet brave enough to see him out, so he had to content himself with small sightings of the white wolf as he prowled around the keep. He spent most of his time out in the courtyard, doing his best to wear himself out with as much sword practice as he could fit into the day. Geralt seemed determined to stay as far as possible from the small dragon, only ever seeing him at meal times and then spending the entire time staring at him across the table with an unreadable look on his face. Jaskier knew it was too much to ask for, to expect Geralt to comfort him or even tolerate his presence in the one place the man considered a home, but it still hurt to see just how little the man he loved cared for him. 

Ciri seemed to be delighted with all of the guests in the keep. She kept running from group to group, delighting in all of the stories that she could get from them. She especially loved spending time with Saskia and Jaskier, quickly finding the spots on Saskia to stroke that would have the small dragon purring in contentment. Jaskier was much more aloof. He was still too jumpy to allow her to touch him in that way, but the young princess didn’t seem to mind. Instead, she spent her time telling him about all of the songs that she had heard in the courts of Cintra that were rumoured to be by him. 

While the ego boost was nice, it also reminded him of the life that he had lost. The Jaskier that had written those songs, that had performed in all of those palaces and inns across the Continent, he would have been brave enough to allow the princess to touch him or talk to the man that he loved so desperately or even thank the women who had saved him rather than hiding like a coward behind the excuse that he was too traumatised to talk. The others seemed to have accepted that he was unable to tell them much about what had happened to him, Yennefer in particular being rather put out that the mage had been powerful enough to block them from identifying him. It meant that Jaskier was largely left unquestioned, only Borch giving him significant looks whenever he came across the small dragon. 

At night, the three dragons retired to the courtyard, curling up together in a golden pile rather than trying to find a place in the keep to sleep. It made Jaskier nostalgic for his time back in the cave. It had been one of the few times in his life that he had felt truly safe and free to be himself. 

This was a strange mockery of those moments. Jaskier woke them, and most of the others in the keep, every night with his screams. Nightmares of Vilgefortz and the tortures he had put him through haunted him every time he closed his eyes. He hated that the others had to know just how pathetic he was, but it wasn’t like he could stop them. They just kept coming and he couldn’t seem to escape them. 

Saskia was adorable when he woke up screaming. She would cuddle close to him and start singing his own songs back to him. It was a strange feeling, to hear his own songs being crooned back to him regardless of how filthy the subject matter was. Borch would chime in, rumbling along to the tune so that the skin under Jaskier vibrated and almost rocked him back to sleep. 

It was usually enough that he could get a few hours sleep each night, but he woke each morning feeling more and more like the stain of Vilgefortz would never be wiped from his life. All he wanted was to be able to put it from his mind, to go back to the man he had been, but the whispered discussions when they thought he wasn’t listening, the way that Yennefer and Triss portaled the witchers away from the keep every few days and returned looking incensed, it all kept him locked in the past. 

Geralt in particular came back from the trips looking devastated. Each time he went, he came back more and more distraught. Jaskier had overheard Vesemir complaining that the other witcher had destroyed some swords that he had been looking at repairing, taking his frustrations out on the training dummies until they were in tatters. He didn’t understand it. The man could barely look at him, couldn’t seem to stomach the sight of him, but reacted so violently to what Jaskier could only assume was the evidence of his own imprisonment. 

He did his best to make it easier on all of them, trying to stay out of sight as much as possible and refrain from causing a scene when all he wanted to do was howl his pain and misery to the sky. He kept quiet, tried to be the meek and humble little pet that Vilgefortz had beaten into him. Maybe that way he would be able to ease the suffering they were all going through, maybe that would be the way to let them all move on with their lives and stop worrying about him. He hated that he was the cause of so much pain. If he could just be as unobtrusive as possible, let them forget all about what had happened to him, maybe they would all be able to find a way to move forward with their lives and learn to care for and support each other. 

It was horrific, especially as he started feeling more and more like himself each day. He could almost feel his personality slowly dripping back into him and had to work hard to keep it repressed in an attempt to keep them all safe. The urge to snark back at some of the comments they made or poke fun at some of the stupid assumptions the witchers made about dragons kept welling up inside him. He felt as if the desire to keep himself safe and the need to be himself were constantly at war within him and it left him increasingly twitchy. 

There were a few people who seemed less than pleased with his current behaviour, as he was reminded during the evening meal. He was sitting quietly on the end of the table, forcing himself to eat slowly and not gorge on the food and then skitter out of sight like every fiber of his body was screaming for him to do. He was doing well, up until Lambert slammed Coën against the table, yelling and laughing at him. 

Within seconds, Jaskier found himself curled up as small as he could make himself under a cabinet against the wall. His heart was racing and once again his throat didn’t seem to want to open enough to allow him to breathe. The awful wheezing noise that escaped him made him sick. Even worse was the way he could feel every inch of his body shaking even as he tried to make himself even smaller in the dark recesses he had found himself in. 

“Jaskier?” Saskia said cautiously, poking her head under the table. 

Jaskier couldn’t help his instinctive reaction, the quick flash of claws towards her that had Saskia darting back with a surprised noise. As soon as he registered what he had done, he was retching in disgust. 

“Oh, for the love of all things, get out of the way,” he heard Yennefer snap. Her hand quickly moved under the cabinet, fingers flicking when he swiped at them to deflect them away with a quick burst of magic that had Jaskier crying out in fear, and grabbed at his legs, pulling him from his hiding spot. 

“I suppose we should all be thankful that you are acting like something other than a mistreated house pet, idiot bard. The moping was really beginning to be unbearable.” 

He could hear the Zerrikanians protesting her treatment of him, along with Saskia chirping her agreement with the mage, but he was more focused on clawing at the floor in an attempt to stay where it was nice and dark and safe and no one could touch him. He was no match for Yennefer though, the sharp electric scent of her magic aiding her as she pulled him out from under the cabinet like a misbehaving kitten. 

“You’re not there anymore, Jaskier. Stop letting him win, stop letting yourself be the victim. It was just Lambert being as ass as usual. You will need to get used to that, I doubt these barbarians would know how to act in civilised company so I assume these outbreaks of violence will be rather frequent. Gods, I never thought I would see the day when I would miss your irritatingly positive outlook on life. Now, I have had enough of Borch, Téa, and Véa babying you. You will be coming with me for the next few hours. I have a few questions to ask you and I think that you could do with the change of pace, as well as someone that isn’t going to allow you to act like this.” 

She held him tight in her arms, ignoring the way his heart pounded against his chest apart from the discreet pat of her hands along his side where his wings concealed them. She fixed the others in the room with a steely glare, quickly reducing their protests to nothing, before grinning in satisfaction and sweeping dramatically from the room. 

“I like her, she’s scary,” he heard Saskia say in her usual excited tone. 

Ciri let out a bell like laugh that drifted down the hallways. “She’s terrifying. She’s going to teach me magic so that I can be just as scary. Do you want to join?” 

Yennefer chuckled as she carried him up some stairs towards the tower she had claimed as her own. “Between you and those two girls, I think this keep is in for rather a shock. You will have to get back to your usual annoying self, Jaskier, otherwise I am going to have to deal with the fallout while the others run around like headless chickens. Lucky for you, I am rather good at getting what I want.” 

Her smile bared sharp little teeth and Jaskier had to remind himself that he was the magical creature here, not the vicious looking mage in front of him. Rather than sending him back to the memories of that cage, the evidence of Yennefer’s power and aggression made him feel safe. How fucked up was he if the crazy mage was one of the few things that made him feel like one day he could be the man he had wanted to be. 


	21. Your angel ellipsis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier spends some time with Yennefer.

Jaskier was both terrified and impressed by Yennefer. The woman was a force of nature and the way that she just put her mind to things was something that he wished he could do. Even before he had been kidnapped and put through hell, he had never really had the long term focus that he was seeing from her now. 

She had set him up on a bench next to where she was conducting several experiments at once and then proceeded to poke around with various ingredients and drag him into a discussion of his new abilities now that he was a dragon. When he refused to answer, she turned that violent glare on him and he found the words slipping from him in an attempt to get her to stop with the evil eyes. 

She frequently asked for demonstrations, and Jaskier had been afraid that it would make him feel like he was back with Vilgefortz. The thing that saved it was that she was so interested in him and excited to see what he could do. There was none of the cold, clinical focus of Vilgefortz. Yennefer was like quicksilver, darting around the room to grab various things for him to try and bite through or burn or see if he could tolerate the smell of it. He could almost see her relaxing into her questioning, her words coming faster and faster and a small smile flitting across her mouth that he didn’t think he had ever seen before. 

He tried to keep quiet, remain docile and unthreatening like he had been taught for so long, but sweet Melitele was the woman funny. Her little snarky comments and the mischievous glint in her eyes when she called him names had him replying with scathing comments without thinking. Every time he said something vicious back, he couldn’t stop the warm glow in his chest as she laughed at his insults and gave them back just as easily. 

Like this, Jaskier could see the woman that Geralt had felt so much for. Her focus, her quick mind, her gentle teasing that kept him from feeling self conscious even as she was asking increasingly personal questions; Yennefer was a rather outstanding woman. The constant anger and vicious comments slipped away and left behind a sense of the girl she must have been before she had been trained as a mage. 

Jaskier was weirdly entranced watching this black and white blur darting around the room. Her hair was still in the perfectly mussed curls she favoured and her clothes were still as perfectly fitted and dramatic as usual, but she seemed like a different woman entirely. It made him wonder just what she had been through to turn her into the controlling, defensive woman who threw barbs at him and seemed to lash out at every possible moment. 

“Are you even listening to me, you shiny little reptile?” Yennefer said, her voice light as she tapped him on the snout. 

He blew a smoke ring at her, feeling almost sleepy with the release of tension. For he felt so strangely safe here, he could feel the stress and fear slowly leaking out of him as he watched her. 

“Oh, so this is all it takes to calm the little dragon, hmm? You are rather sweet like this. Maybe we should keep you this way rather than trying to find a way to get you human sized again? I am sure that once Geralt gets over himself he will rather enjoy having a more portable companion. He did complain rather frequently that it was hard to make sure that you were safely out of danger when he was out doing his monster killing act, but this way he could just leave you sitting on Roach and that demon he calls a horse could keep you safe. Although, all of that is assuming that Borch ever allows you back onto the road.” 

He made a sleepy noise at that, baring his teeth lazily and feeling a smug sense of pride when a less than perfect life slipped from her lips, her hand flying up to her mouth as if to catch it before he could hear. She bopped him on the snout before wriggling her fingers questioningly at him. When he nodded, he felt her magic wrap lightly around him. 

“Hm, well, Borch did say that you were still settling into your magic and that it would most likely be affected by your imprisonment, but I hadn’t quite expected it to increase this quickly. Compared to how you were when you first came in, you seem much more powerful.” 

He preened under her assessment, the long suffering look she sent him not dampening his relief that he would hopefully become strong enough to defend himself soon. 

“Yes, yes, you are a rather remarkable little lizard. Save it for that witcher you keep sending longing looks at every meal. How the hell Geralt is still acting like a bloody troll, I do not know. Clearly you were the logical influence in that duo and he is suffering for your absence. Now, I have a few things that you can try that should help to speed up your magical development. Would you be willing to try them?” 

Jaskier blinked at her consideringly before speaking. “If it can help me to get back to my human form, then of course. I need to be strong enough to keep away from ... him. Gods, why can I not even say his fucking name?” 

Yennefer huffed out a breath and glared at her the various potions that she had been assembling. “I have those witchers and your rather terrifying bodyguards doing their best to try and figure out who this asshole is. We will find him, Jaskier, I can promise you this. In the meantime, I told Borch that I would help you to recover from this and that is what I shall do. How could I resist the urge to wind up Geralt in this way as well. That asshole deserves to squirm and wonder what the pair of us are talking about up here after that stunt he pulled on the mountain, doesn’t he?” 

Jaskier laughed, looking at her in surprised delight. This kind of petty bullshit was exactly what he needed to feel more like the bard he had been that day so long ago. He didn’t even feel rude talking about Geralt behind his back like this, the man had made it more than clear that he didn’t want to talk to the dragon at the moment so what else could he expect? 

“I had assumed that he had said some of his defensive crap to you that day when I found him, but I never really heard what he said. How ridiculous was it all?”

Yennefer flicked him a sassy look, rolling her eyes at the memory. 

“He did his usual stunt. The man does have rather a talent for finding the exact thing to say that preys on your biggest insecurities, but fortunately I have had plenty of practice ignoring people who believe that they know better than me about my life.” 

Jaskier shuffled closer to her, resting his front claws on her arm and accepting the potion that she offered him as she continued to talk. 

“He said that my desire to be a mother was ridiculous, that I would never be a good mother to a child and that pretending otherwise was foolish. I refuse to listen to life advice from a man who can barely keep himself alive, no matter how attractive he is.”

Jaskier thought for a moment, pulling a face at the taste of the potion that had Yennefer chuckling. He could see why Geralt would have said such a thing, but the man had clearly underestimated Yennefer. 

“He at least knew that he had done wrong. He was pretty ... well, he was doing that whole thing where he blames himself for everything that has ever gone wrong, but this time with the added benefit of blaming me for it all. I, I left after that, went with Borch and hadn’t seen him again until you brought me here. I don’t know why he’s suddenly so mad at me.” 

Yennefer immediately dropped into a seat beside the bench where he sat, looking at him appraisingly. He could almost see her thinking it through, checking her knowledge of Geralt against what he had told her and drawing some rather interesting conclusions. 

“That rat bastard. Of fucking course he blamed you for everything. The idiot loves to hate himself for every little thing that happens to anyone that he knows and then decides that the ridiculous puppy dog of a man that had been following him around and doing whatever he could to make the oaf’s life better is the perfect punching bag. Why did I not see it before? All the stupid angst and pent up guilt, of course he thinks that all of this is his fault. Ugh, are all men this self absorbed and stupid?” 

She laughed at the disgruntled look Jaskier shot him, his chest puffing up in indignation. He couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped him, especially not when Yennefer started laughing as well. Gods, it was good to be able to just be for a moment, to forget the constant fear and worry that Vilgefortz would come for him and hurt the people that he loved. Looking at the mage in front of him, her head tipped back in laughter and revealing the slightly uneven set of her shoulders that he didn’t think he had ever noticed before, he finally felt like he may have a chance if Vilgefortz came for him.

He was growing every day now that he was safe and had enough to eat. He was approaching the size of a small dog now and could feel his magic growing alongside his physical form. Soon, he would be large enough to be able to defend himself against any mage in the same way that Borch did, and in the meantime he had a rather vicious mage who seemed like she was making her way perilously close to best friend material. 

“He can be a rat bastard, as you so charmingly put it, my lady, but he happens to be my rat bastard. Well, he was my rat bastard, now I suppose he wants nothing to do with me given the way he avoids me.” 

“No, Jaskier, no. He’s just, he’s doing his usual stupid trick of taking all the blame for everything onto himself and not actually stopping to consider anyone else’s thoughts. I’m surprised you haven’t heard those brothers of his teasing him for the way he’s been moping about and venting all his frustrations on them. Geralt has always been crap at dealing with his emotions, and his current method of choice is casting distressed looks at you every few seconds and then running away to try and beat something up.” 

Jaskier scoffed at her words. There was no way that the witcher cared enough about him to be that distressed. Yennefer must be wrong, she must be imagining it. While he accepted that Geralt most likely felt some guilt over the way that Jaskier had been kidnapped and tortured given that the man seemed to take an almost masochistic delight in blaming himself for any misfortune he saw, there was no way that Geralt cared about Jaskier in the way that he so fervently wished for. He knew that Yennefer wasn’t doing it to be cruel, but her words did stab at his heart. 

He had no real reason to hope that Geralt would ever return his feelings, especially now that he saw that the man that had followed him around for so long was actually a creature, a tortured, broken one at that. He would have to find a way to content himself with what he had left, with what he could scrape together from the wreckage of his new life. Maybe part of that was learning to take the friendship that Yennefer seemed to be offering with both hands and trying to learn to protect himself and his friends. 

Jaskier shuffled off of the bench he had been sitting on and landed on Yennefer’s lap, grinning when she made a small sound of annoyance at his weight suddenly dropping onto her. He grinned, lifting his front paws up to rest on her shoulders and curling his neck up until he was at eye level with her. He nudged at her forehead with his snout, purring his contentment when she lifted a head to scratch lightly at his head. 

“Alright, lizard. Between the two of us, we can get you human formed again and in perfect shape to show that horrifically attractive asshole just what he had been missing since that day on the mountaintop.” 


	22. We’re left with

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier adjusts to a busy keep.

After that, Jaskier felt much more like himself. He still had his moments, a few days where he lapsed back into the apathetic listlessness that he had used to protect himself or ended up cowering under various pieces of furniture when he got spooked, but Yennefer was always there with a teasing comment to coax him back out. 

He started exploring the keep more, mostly under the careful watch of three of the witchers who seemed to believe that they would be murdered in their sleep by one of their brothers if any harm came to the golden dragon. He tagged along with Eskel, Lambert, Coën, and Saskia, who had told the witchers that she was unsure if she wanted to travel with a witcher of her own or perhaps adopt a mage and one up her brother, as they went about their daily lives in the castle. 

Eskel proved to be a rather gentle giant, frequently taking Jaskier from the group when the others got too rowdy to help him patch up some of the holes in the keep walls. He had the small dragon help him mix the mortar to hold the chunks of rock in place while quietly talking to him about the various things that he had seen across the Continent. Jaksier was rather surprised by how poetic some of his descriptions were and quietly tucked a few away into his memory to use later if he felt the inspiration to start composing again.

Jasier found the witcher rather restful, his sensible approach to life and the quiet thrum of his magic that was somewhere between the other witchers and a mage only adding to the man’s charm. He was happy enough to help him with his chores, especially when Eskel had him working on laying some of the higher bricks that he could not reach, and found the manual labour soothing. 

Of course, when he wanted entertainment, there was no one better to follow than Lambert. The youngest wolf witcher seemed to constantly have some ridiculous idea that he was working on. Jaskier spent many hours helping him with his moonshine, mostly as a taste tester but that was besides the point, and then spending long hours talking absolute nonsense with him while the room spun gently. It was the perfect way to get out of his head for a few minutes, despite the disproving looks they received from Borch and Vesemir when they re-emerged from the cellars reeking of alcohol. 

Coën was an interesting enigma to the young dragon. He seemed much younger than the others, despite them all saying that he was the same age as Lambert, and didn’t appear to be quite as removed from the world as the wolves were. He was happy enough to gossip with Jaskier about what had been happening in the major cities while he had been kidnapped, and had asked the bard to teach him some of his songs, claiming that it would be a great new travelling performance that people would pay good money to see. With his pockmarked face and his ready emotional responses to things, Jaskier had the impression that the man had a very different experience of being a witcher. 

He didn’t know if it was due to being a griffin rather than a wolf, or if there were changes in when and how he had been mutated, but it was odd to see a witcher act so ... normal. He was still rather terrifying physically, as Jaskier had seen when the witchers invited him to watch them spar. They had such different ways of fighting, the wolves all slinking grace and quick movements while Coën seemed much more reliant on his signs, laughing as he flung the others onto their asses with aard after aard. Eskel was the only one who seemed close to his level in terms of magical power, and the two frequently engaged in some stupid roullette game where they would each cast quen and then wait for the other to try and break it with their own signs. They even encouraged Jaskier to try, his flame managing to blast through their signs quicker than either had anticipated and leaving him soaring around their heads crowing smugly. 

He had head Borch talking to Téa and Véa about it, about how Jaskier seemed to be slowly coming back to the man that he was, and he couldn’t help the twin flickers of pride and panic that wove around his heart. He was still so unsure of the relationship he had with Borch, the way that the man seemed to fulfill all the stupid dreams of having a loving parent that he had thought he had buried long ago, and then to repay that with the kind of worry and stress that Jaskier had put him through was something he didn’t know how to respond to. 

It made it worse to see Yennefer and Triss portalling Borch, the two Zerrikanian women, and whichever witchers decided to go out exploring that day off to Touissant and then reappearing in the evening grim faced and refusing to talk to Jaskier about what they had seen. The thought of them seeing that disgusting room, the cage and the potions and all the other trappings on his imprisonment, had him vibrating with mingled pain and anger. 

How dare they look at something he was trying so hard to move away from. How dare they poke and pry at some of the worst moments of Jaskier’s life without allowing him any sort of input. How dare they keep dragging it up, bringing those memories back so that Jaskier was there behind those bars thinking that he would never be free, that he would always be this performing dog for VIlgefortz to train and punish again and again, and then expect that the dragon would be completely unaffected by it all. That was usually the precursor to one of his bad days, where he found himself unable to muster up the energy to move let alone speak to anyone and had to be forced into eating or drinking. He felt a certain savage satisfaction at their concern on those days, wanting them to see how much stirring up the past like that hurt him. 

All he wanted was to be able to put Vilgefortz in the past where he could never hurt him. He wanted to move forward, to learn to be strong and powerful and dangerous enough that he would never have to be that dragon in the cage performing whatever tricks Vilgefortz demanded of him, never have to be that boy in his mother’s cellar screaming as the skin was flayed from him in an attempt to see if scales lurked beneath it. But they refused to give him that dignity, to allow him to remake himself anew as he had when he had set out on the road as Jaskier the bard, and instead he was trapped in this awful limbo.

Whenever they got back from their explorations, Jaskier ensured that his displeasure was known. He refused to get within reach of them, lurking in doorways and on top of high cabinets and making a point of ignoring them while puffing large clouds of smoke at them. Any attempt to approach him was met with vicious growls and him retreating to another room for an hour or two before he would reemerge. 

The first time he had reacted like that, he had fought hard against the knee jerk reaction to cower before them and hope that his punishment was not too extensive. He only managed to maintain his haughty demeanour by sheer strength of will and was immensely thankful that none of the witchers commented on the strong scent of fear that seemed to leak from every pore on his body. He had become far too accustomed to that scent and hated it with every fiber of his being. 

One of the others seemed to have noticed, some lightly scented flowers appearing at his accustomed place at the table the next morning after he had a bad day. He had taken to rolling in those flowers so that the scent would stick to his scales for the rest of the day, covering up any other scents that he didn’t want to deal with. He had ignored the comments from Lambert and Coën that he smelt like a Touissantois dandy, the shivers that ran down his spine at the thought going unremarked on, thank all the gods, and Saskia’s protests that no one was getting her flowers each morning. 

The next morning, Ciri presented her with several flowers and the pair spent most of their breakfast trying to weave said flowers through the witchers’ hair to various levels of success. Vesemir and Geralt ended up with rather majestic flower crowns, while Eskel and Coën had flowers poked rather haphazardly into their hair by claws that had not yet learned to be dexterous enough to handle the flowers without puncturing their delicate leaves. Lambert only escaped flowerless because he threatened to stab anyone that came near him with a single blossom and bribed Jaskier to stand up for him with some of his rather dangerous homebrew that he was drinking at an hour that Vesemir called “far too early for anyone sensible to be drinking, how the hell did I manage to raise such idiot pups.” 

It was a weirdly domestic scene, one that allowed Jaskier to pretend that nothing bad had ever happened and he and his draconid family had fallen in with the witchers in much more pleasant circumstances. Even Borch seemed to be entertained by their actions, sitting between Téa and Véa and egging his daughter on in her mission to decorate as many people at the table as possible with the remains of her flowers. 

Jaskier sighed and proceeded to show her how to use her claws to manipulate the flowers without destroying them, nudging his head under Véa’s jaw in thanks when she offered her own braid as a workspace. Between the two of them they managed something that he could be proud of, especially when Saskia started parading around the table with her chest puffed out and her head thrown back. She was quickly distracted by Triss, who had taken to entertaining the youngest dragon with various illusions and conjurations. 

Jaksier clambered up onto Borch’s shoulders to watch her indulgently, looking around the table at the people who had saved him from the darkness of Vilgefortz’s cage in more ways than one. Everyone was grinning, watching Saskia dance across the table in pursuit of illusionary butterflies, apart from one. 

Across the table, a pair of yellow eyes were fixed on Jaskier, almost burning a hole in his scales. He watched him from the corner of his eyes, trying not to look directly at the man who had been so removed from him since they had been reunited. He tried to ignore the fact that some of Triss’ magical butterflies seemed to have taken up residence in his stomach with the way that Geralt was watching him, doing his best to keep his emotions from his face, something that he knew he wasn’t particularly good at. 

Geralt had changed in the time that Jaskier had been at the keep. His face had grown gaunt, cheekbones standing out even more against his pale skin and giving him the appearance of a hungry wolf cycling a fireplace. His hair hung in lank strands that had Jaskier wincing. He missed being granted the privilege to wash that hair, to get all of the monster guts and grime out of it until it gleamed the same colour as the first snows each winter. The witcher that he had known so well was looking less and less like the human that Jaskier knew him to be, a desperate light seeming to flicker in those golden eyes. 

Jaskier wished that he could walk across that table, that he could rest a clawed paw on his arm and tell the witcher that he was here, that he would always be here for the man, and then make some rude self deprecating joke to distract the man from whatever worries haunted him so much. But he knew better. He knew that he was the reason that the witcher looked so tormented and he was terrified that any attempt to interact with the witcher would be met with disgust and would chase the witcher away from whatever peace he had found. 

It was much easier to stay here, no matter how much Jaskier hated himself for the pain that he was clearly bringing to the witcher. Across the table, there was no reason for Geralt to show just how repulsed he was by Jaskier’s scaled form. He didn’t have to hear how he had tricked the witcher into thinking he was someone worth travelling with, didn’t have to hear how he had broken the man’s trust just like everyone else that the witcher had met. 


	23. The hubbub and the hum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier is not pleased with the others knowing who hurt him.

The day that Yennefer and Triss managed to figure out who was responsible for Jaskier’s imprisonment was one of the strangest of Jaskier’s life. 

They had set off in the morning, Jaskier alone in the keep with Ciri, Vesemir, and Saskia while the others all went to Touissant to follow a lead that Téa said she had found. Vesemir had decided to use the day as an impromptu lesson time, pulling the three of them into the library to tell them the history of the witchers and the school of the wolf. They had been a captivated audience, all three of them engrossed in these stories and imagining how each of them could change the reputations of the witchers, when there had been a large amount of swearing and crashing from the courtyard that had them all jumping to their feet. 

Jaskier and Saskia were first into the courtyard, launching themselves out of the library window and quickly soaring down to stick their nosy little noses into whatever was happening. Saskia took the opportunity to bodyslam her brother a little bit, as was her younger sister prerogative, and then laughed at him when he spat some flames at her in annoyance. He was more interested in finding out what was causing all of the noise rather than play with his little sister. 

As he dropped into the courtyard, alighting on one of the crumbling walls delicately and ignoring the way Saskia slammed into the wall next to him and crowed at the shower of rubble that fell under her, he saw the witchers barrelling through a portal even as Borch started lashing his talk angrily around the courtyard even as he apologised to the two Zerrikanians trying to avoid being hit. The mages were next through the portal once all of the others had returned, and Yennefer immediately started swearing as electricity seemed to crackle over her skin. 

“Father, Father, did you find the bad man? Did you eat him or set him on fire?” Saskia jumped into the fray and managed to land on Borch’s back as he took his frustrations out by burning some of the practice dummies that were lying about. 

Jaskier was a little bit more cautious, keeping his distance and watching the anger on all of their faces. Even the more mild mannered Triss seemed to be feeling rather ferocious, muttering under her breath a litany of rather horrific things that she wanted to do to someone. He could see her rubbing at her chest under her usual high neckline as if it pained her, and noticed Yennefer rubbing at her eyes as well. The hell had they seen to make the rather unflappable mages react like this. 

“Saesenthessis, please. Go and sit with your brother for a moment. We can talk more at dinner once everyone has had some time to process.” 

Saskia immediately started whining, digging her claws in when he tried to shake her gently off. “I want to know what happened! It’s not fair! First you don’t let me come, then you won’t tell me what you found! I want to help look after Julek and make the bad man pay!” 

Ciri and Vesemir chose that moment to come flying into the courtyard at speed. Vesemir moved over to his witchers, immediately questioning them in a low voice that Jaskier wished he could overhear, while Saskia launched herself onto Ciri’s shoulder and both young girls started complaining at the top of their lungs about how they deserved to be told what was happening. It was moments like these that Jaskier remembered how young they both were, Ciri in particular seeming much more mature than her age with all of the trauma that she had been through. 

Yennefer was the first to snap, barely managing to hold onto her temper as she rounded on the two girls. “The pair of you, get inside and start getting something ready for dinner. If you continue to make a scene like this, I will hex you silent for a week. Borch has said that we will explain it later, so stop working yourselves up. You’re upsetting Jaskier.” 

Both girls turned to see Jaskier perched on the wall, trying to stop the way he was shaking by clutching at the rock beneath his claws with all of his strength, and fell silent. They shared a look before Ciri turned and went back inside, talking in a low voice to Saskia as they went. 

Téa and Véa quickly climbed the walls to sit beside him. Véa rested a reassuring hand on his back, not commenting on the way he quivered beneath her touch, while Téa pulled a whetstone from her pocket and started on one of her swords. 

“Julian, please accept our apologies,” Téa said in a solemn tone. “For you to have fallen into the hands of such a ... such a monster. Triss and Yennefer have told us what they know of him, and I shudder to think what he may have done to you.” She broke off as her voice broke, angrily dashing the tears from her eyes with the back of her hand. Her sister was much more open with her emotions, ignoring the way tears fell down her cheeks in favour of slowly petting Jaskier’s scales. 

Shit, what the fuck had they found? If they knew it was Vilgefrotz, if they went looking for him or had left some kind of clue that he could use to track the people who had helped him escape, Jaskier didn’t know what he would do. Fuck, he had just been starting to feel more like himself. Now he could feel the fear welling back up inside him like some awful black ooze. 

He made a small noise, something awful and twisted and pathetic, and tried to squirm away from them, wanting to find somewhere to hide and pretend that none of this had happened. He managed to get out from under Véa’s hand and as he went to scramble away, Borch gently grabbed the back of his neck between his teeth and held him like a kitten. He lowered him to the ground in front of him, his tail snaking around to wrap around Jaskier in a comforting embrace that seemed to stop him from vibrating out his own scales. 

“Julian, calm yourself,” he rumbled, anger still giving a sharp edge to his voice even as he looked at the smaller dragon in concern. “It does not matter how powerful this mage may be, or what atrocities he has to his name so far. I shall not allow him to get away with treating one of my children like this, and I am sure you know by now that none of the others here will allow him to continue like this either. Now, pull yourself together. I know that you do not want to worry Saskia or Ciri and that is exactly what you shall do if you allow the fear to control you once again.” 

Jaskier whimpered rather pathetically, taking more comfort from the familiar scent of brimstone and fire that Borch exuded than he would ever admit. He tried to push the thought from his mind that everyone else was most likely watching this, seeing just how low that Jaskier had been brought and comparing it to whatever they had found in Toussaint. He couldn’t deal with those thoughts right now, all of his energy devoted to quelling the shivers that racked his spine. 

He flinched as Yennefer moved quickly into view, her magic almost visible as it roiled in the air around her. 

“How the fuck did I not see it? I am so sorry, Jaskier, so fucking sorry. That fucking asshole, Vilgefortz. And to think, we were all so happy to see him in Sodden, so happy to have someone with military experience and raw talent. Fuck, fuck, fuck. I was fucking joking about him sleeping with Tissaia and all the while he had you caged up there, in pain and suffering while he played the hero.” 

Her voice was harsh, filled with self loathing and anger. Triss moved to touch her shoulder and was roughly shoved away. Yennefer let out an angry snarl and then turned to look at the witchers where they stood in a group, talking to each other in a low voice and already adopting the stony focus that Jaskier had noticed in Geralt when he prepared for the more challenging hunts that he took. 

“And you,” she hissed, advancing on Geralt angrily. The poor man looked up in surprise, his gaunt face looking even more ravaged by whatever had transpired on their trip. “How the fuck could you allow Jaskier out of your sight? You chased him off on that fucking mountain and look what happened! You pretend that you don’t care about anything, that you just move through the world protecting people from monsters human and otherwise, but you can’t even keep your own fucking best friend safe! And now you sulk around this place like the fucking coward Eskel called you, too scared to face up to the consequences of your actions. You should be on your knees, begging Jaskier for his forgiveness and pledging to do whatever it takes to make him feel safe again.” 

By the time she finished she was slamming her fists against the witcher’s chest, her fury the only thing that seemed to be keeping her upright as she choked out her words through her tears. Lambert and Coën had moved to stop her once she started hitting their brother, but Eskel and Vesemir had quickly pulled them back and left her to it. 

“Yenna,” Geralt said in a low, broken voice. His amber eyes were wide with hurt and confusion, but he seemed to accept her violence as if it was his due. “I...” 

“You were meant to keep him safe, Geralt,” she said, the anger seeping out of her until Geralt was holding her up, arms tight around her as she sobbed against his chest. “When I was in that room, when Triss managed to get the memories to play back, I could hear him thinking about you, about how you would come and save him and then he would be free of that hell. He trusted you, believed in you, and all he got was Vilgefortz and his fucking magic.” 

Geralt sighed, resting his head in the raven curls that shook in time with her gasping breaths. He held her close to him, letting the mage take all of her frustrations out on him. Those golden eyes flicked up, locking onto Jaskier instantly. The skin around his eyes tightened with some emotion that Jaskier couldn’t name and the dragon found himself looking away, terrified to see how the witcher would react to being caught in such an emotional moment. 

To see two people that he cared for so much, the man that he had devoted most of his life to helping and supporting and the woman who was slowly managing to heal him after one of the most traumatic times of his life, seeking comfort in each other for something that was ultimately his fault, it made Jaskier sick to his stomach. If only he had been smarter, been stronger, managed to avoid being captured or found a way to escape Vilgefortz or at least make all the pain end, then he wouldn’t have to see such strong people brought low by pain, guilt, and anger. 

He must have made some pained noise, because Borch shifted form and picked up the dragon, grunting slightly at the weight of the dragon, and started carrying him into the keep. The others followed, leaving Jaskier unable to stop himself from looking over his adoptive father’s shoulder to get one last glimpse of the witcher and the mage standing in the middle of the courtyard holding each other close. He wanted with all his heart to be able to comfort them, to be able to ease that pain in some way, but if he couldn’t do it then he could at least leave them to each other, no matter how much his heart cried out to be part of that embrace. 


	24. Just talk about this

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A plan is made.

The only reason that Jaskier was allowed to be part of the discussion as to how they would find Vilgefortz was that he made far too much of a fuss when he was locked out of the room that they had decided to use for their planning. He had refused to budge from outside of the door, shrieking at the top of his lungs and yelling at them mentally as loudly as he could project, scratching and throwing himself at the door for good measure. They had managed to last all of three minutes before the door slammed open and Lambert told him to get inside if he was going to be so bloody dramatic. He had darted into the room as soon as the door was open wide enough, winding his way past Lambert’s legs and jumping up onto the table so that he could have a good view of the map they were using. 

“Now that we are all here,” Vesemir said with a weary glance at Jaskier, “shall we get started. From what you have told me, ladies, this Vilgefortz is a tricky bastard. Given how hard it was to find out who he is, I doubt it will be much easier to make the fucker pay. Any suggestions?” 

Triss tapped a finger on the map pensively, turning to look at Yennefer. “I feel as if Tissaia would have a way to contact him. Perhaps if we went to her, told her what he has done without mentioning any names, she may be willing to help us to find him. Then it would be a matter of getting some dimeritium on him and he would be as helpless as he thought Jaskier was.” 

Yennefer hummed thoughtfully but was interrupted by Geralt. 

“We can’t do anything that would risk him finding out just who the dragon he had is. From what you have said, Yennefer, it doesn’t sound like that asshole ever managed to figure out that he is in any way human, and that’s the way it should stay. You can’t involve this Tissaia, we can’t risk it.”

His amber eyes were flashing as he spoke, and Triss flinched back from the ferocity in his words. He was looking more and more like the wolf that his school identified with, especially with the way that stress and worry had emaciated his face.

Vesemir growled warningly and he subsided, still glaring at Triss. 

“Merigold, is there a way that you could get the assistance of this woman without risking her finding out Jaskier’s identity? I think we can all see how that would be a big fucking problem,” Lambert said. 

Triss pulled a face at him. “I told you, don’t call me that,” she hissed, before turning to look at the rest of the table. “There are spells we can use, ones that will prevent us from in any way communicating Jaskier’s name. It would be like the one that Vilgefortz has clearly used on Jaskier, but temporary. That way, there is no risk of us giving anything away. I promise you all, I wouldn’t do anything to put Jaskier in harm’s way.” She gave Geralt a particularly doe-eyed look, ignoring the way that Yennefer scoffed under her breath and the other witchers snorted in disbelief. 

Jaskier sighed and tapped a claw on the table to get their attention. 

“I don’t see why you all believe that you have to confront him. I never want to hear his name again, can we not all just move on already?” 

He didn’t know why he was surprised that they all turned and looked at him like he had just suggested they all strip naked and start throwing knives at each other for fun. He had somehow forgotten that this table was filled with rather bloodthirsty individuals, most who were violent for a living or were magical creatures with a reputation for destroying villages. Of course they would decide that this had to be decided by more violence, despite the fact that all Jaskier wanted was to try and find a way to push all of this deep deep down where it would never bubble up to destroy him again. It wasn’t like his method was any healthier, but it would make him feel a hell of a lot better. 

“Julian, this man may try again with someone else. If he was willing to put you through this kind of pain, I imagine that he would be more than willing to repeat his experiments with any dragon that he could get his hands on. We have a duty to make this world safe for other dragons, for Saskia.” Borch held his gaze as he spoke, his gentle understanding and assumption that Jaskier would face up to his fears to be the man that Borch thought he would so clear in his eyes. 

Jaksier sighed and lowered his head in acquiescence. There was no way he could fight that. The very thought of Saskia being put through even a small amount of the pain that he had suffered made him want to kill something, so it looked like they would be solving this the witcher way. 

“Alright, now that everyone is on the same page, how do we want to play this out? Is this an immediate action plan, or do we want to wait until he has had some time to let his guard down? It will take some time to get some dimeritium shackles in any case. We don’t tend to keep them on hand here, unless Geralt has a secret pair secreted away for some of his ridiculous adventures.” Eskel smirked at his brother at that last line, chuckling when Coën took a moment to process and then burst into laughter. 

“I would prefer if we had this sorted before Julian here could assume his human form. The mage may believe that you have all taken the side of a poor defenseless dragon, but it he sees the bard Jaskier reacting to him in the way that Julian most likely will, any hope of keeping his identity concealed will be long gone,” Borch said, sharing a meaningful glance with Téa and Véa. 

Jaskier bet that if the mage was brought here he wouldn’t be allowed within fifty feet of him, let alone close enough for the mage to notice anyway that he reacted to him. Between the two Zerrikanian women, the witchers who seemed to have adopted Jaskier as some kind of mascot, and the ridiculously protective mages, there was no way that Vilgefortz would have the opportunity to touch a single scale of Jaskier’s. The thought didn’t stop him from shuddering at the thought of being under the same roof as the man, but he would find a way to deal with the fear. He had to. 

“Fine, if Yennefer and I leave today, we could potentially know where he is by the end of the week. Would that give you all enough time to find an adequate place to contain him and source enough dimeritium?” Triss asked. 

“It could be tight, depends if there is any dimeritium in any of the neighbouring villages. It might be easier if one of you could collect some on your way. There isn’t much this far south and it could take a few weeks at least to run a roundtrip,” Vesemir said, his face creased in thought. 

Borch sighed. “I could get some within a few days. The trip is much faster by air. But that would leave Saskia and Jaskier here without much magical protection.” 

There was an uproar at that; the witchers all began yelling that they were more than ready to look after the younger dragons and Jaskier was loudly complaining about being left behind. Borch and Vesemir shared a look that spoke volumes. The two mages kept out of it for once, watching the chaos with amused looks on their faces. The two older men allowed it to continue for a few minutes before Borch put his foot down. 

“I mean no offence, witchers. As Geralt can testify, I am more than aware of your particular skills. However, Jaskier is a young dragon who’s magic is going through enormous growth due to his imprisonment. Young dragons need the presence of their elders to help control their magic, without it I would not be surprised to return to the keep and find it a smouldering heap of rubble. I will go and get these shackles, but I will need to take my children.” 

There was a momentary pause as Jaskier could see the witchers looking at him, sitting on the table and blinking at them innocently, as they tried to figure out how a dragon the size of a dog (really, he was starting to get too big to sit on tables but it was the best way to see what was going on so he wasn’t changing it anytime soon) could destroy a very large stone keep. Jaskier shrugged at them, not quite sure how it would happen but more than happy to have them think he was that impressive. 

Téa looked at her sister before leaning forward. “We would be more than happy to stay here and care for Saesenthessis, Villentretemech, and then Julian could accompany you. If you took a witcher with you, surely that would be enough protection for him.” She shot Jaskier a smile at the end as if to try and take the sting out of insisting that he needed a babysitter. He was a forty year old man who had been travelling the roads since he in his teens, he shouldn’t want someone watching over him as much as he did. 

Borch nodded, tapping his fingers on the table as he considered the plan. “Yes, Geralt, you will accompany us. You have travelled with us both before, it shall be just like old times.” 

Jaskier couldn’t help the little meep that escaped him at that as he turned disbelieving eyes on his adoptive father. Out of the corner of his eyes, he could see that Geralt was looking equally distressed by this plan, his eyes wide in his sunken face. 

“I think that sounds like a great idea,” Vesemir said, shooting the three witchers that were laughing at Geralt’s shock a quelling look. “Geralt will help you to retrieve the dimeritium, while I get these boys to help me reinforce some of the cells. We will need somewhere to put the bastard, given that I foresee his punishment being a rather lengthy one.” He ignored Geralt turning to look at him beseechingly, something that had Jaskier feeling like he had just eaten a bowl of sick, in favour of looking around the table at the others. 

“If we are all decided then, I shall go and say my farewells to the girls. The sooner we leave, the sooner we can find this cocksucker,” Yennefer said, her elegant voice at odds with her language as ever. At Borch and Vesemir’s approving nods, the two mages left the room, the other women following them to discuss what kinds of preparations the mages thought would be most useful to have sorted before their return. 

The witchers were not far behind, Coën pulling Geralt along behind him when the man seemed frozen in shock. Vesemir was already making plans as to the provisions they would need to have ready for the various trips, and Lambert was complaining about the work as usual. Jaskier tried to ignore the look that Geralt threw over his shoulder as he left, his eyes burning with emotions that Jaskier could not bring himself to try and decipher. 

He turned instead to look at Borch, scowling at the knowing glint in the man’s eyes. 

“Really?” Jaskier hissed, lashing his tail in agitation. 

The man feigned ignorance. “I thought that you would be excited to come on such a trip. It should do you good, keep you from becoming too scared to venture beyond these stone walls for fear of the world. And we both know that Geralt is a rather useful travelling companion. I am sure that he will prove most useful on our travels.” 

Jaskier sighed, knowing that there would be no changing Borch’s mind. He would have to resign himself to travelling with the man who had broken his heart and now couldn’t bring himself to talk to him. This was going to be painful. 


	25. Let me follow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier prepares to leave.

Borch had decided that they would be leaving the next day. Triss and Yennefer had already disappeared into a portal, promising to send a message back to Kaer Morhen once they knew more. Vesemir was quickly becoming the organisational mastermind, managing to keep track of who had what and when they were meant to check in. It meant that Jaskier had more time to spend with Saskia trying to soothe her hurt feelings while also trying to push his panic down. 

“You’re not allowed to leave! I won’t let you leave! It’s not fair!” she wailed, glaring at Jaskier. He had found her in Ciri’s room and neither girl was taking the idea of being left behind while others went off on what must sound like an exciting adventure to the girls. 

Jaskier sighed, flicking his eyes up to see Ciri scowling at him as well. She was just as mad, but thankfully she was less the screaming type and more the extended grudge. Ciri seemed more mad that Geralt would be leaving than him, which made a lot of sense, and he could see the hint of fear dancing in her green eyes at the thought of the man who had brought her here leaving. 

“Saskia, darling, you know that I would much rather stay here with you than go out there, but Borch has said it isn’t safe for me to be left here alone. I promise, it won’t be like last time. I will have Borch and ... and Geralt with me. There’s no way that anyone will take me away.” 

Ciri was far too quick for her own good, her eyes widening in interest at his slip. 

“Don’t worry, Saskia, I am sure that Geralt will keep an eye on him. He used to tell me all sorts of stories about Jaskier before you all came to Kaer Morhen, and most of them involved him saving him from angry people or monsters that he got too close to. He should be good at keeping Jaskier safe, he really seemed to miss it once you weren’t travelling together.” She shot him a coy look, waiting for him to react emotionally. 

Jaskier took a deep breath and smiled at his sister, nudging his face against hers gently. Gods, he hoped he could be human shaped again soon, it was rather hard to emote as dramatically as he was used to with his other form. 

“See, Saskia. I will be completely fine. Geralt has more than enough experience keeping me in once place; this will be a rather unpleasant trip down memory lane for him if anything.” He kind of hated the way his voice twisted, the way self loathing threatened to make it break when he was so used to being able to rely on his voice for anything. 

Saskia was none the wiser, resigning herself to complaining about how she was going to miss out on everything and all the things she would make the two women do as they looked after her, but Ciri was watching Jaskier closely. She was so much like her grandmother, not as needlessly aggressive, but the same sense of watchful intelligence that he remembered from his time in Cintra. Calanthe had been terrifying, both in her violence and her ability to see through the bullshit, and Ciri looked like she would grow to be just as powerful if not more under the influence of Yennefer and the witchers. 

He would have to keep an eye on her, make sure that he found time to treat her like the young child that she was. He didn’t want to see her allow the awful things in her life to leave her jaded. Once he was back and this was all figured out, he would have to think of some fun things that he could get both of the girls involved with, something to remind them of just how young they were before they lost that spark of joy. 

For now, he would enjoy this last night with them. Tomorrow he would have to deal with travelling with Geralt and all of the emotional turmoil that it would involve, but tonight he could convince the girls to make a little pillowfort of Ciri’s bed and spend the night curled up with his sister, safe in Ciri’s arms. 

* * *

“Julian, it’s time to go.” 

Jaskier blinked sleepy eyes and uncurled himself from where he was entangled with Saskia. He looked sleepily at Borch, making an inquisitive noise as the man smiled gently at him. 

“Come on, little one. Geralt has everything ready; we need to meet him in the courtyard and leave. Let the girls sleep. I am sure that the others would appreciate us not leaving them with two tired and annoyed children.” 

Jaskier hummed in agreement, still not completely awake, and delicately picked his way out of the tangle of limbs he had slept in. Ciri made a soft noise and cuddled closer into Saskia before both girls seemed to settle back in. Jaskier stood on the edge of the bed and looked pleadingly up at Borch, purring to himself when he was picked up and Borch started grumbling under his breath about him getting too big to be carried around like this. He probably was, but Borch was a dragon and so he had no problem taking advantage of the extra strength that came with that. 

He spent the walk to the courtyard dozing, his head resting on Borch’s shoulder and letting the man’s quiet words wash over him in waves. It felt like the times he had slept around the campfire, listening to Geralt talk to Roach as he got ready for the day’s travels. He was too sleepy to worry about just how it would all pan out for now, content to enjoy the calm before the inevitable emotional storm that was looming on the horizon. 

  
“Ready?” Geralt’s voice was quiet in the early morning hush. The snow gently falling around them made the world feel like it was wrapped under a thick blanket. The witcher had a large pack strapped to his back alongside his usual swords, and a few bags beside him as well. Borch nodded at him approvingly, and set Jaskier down on the ground. 

The younger dragon made an irritated noise, the cold of the snow slowly waking him up. He looked over to see Geralt flicking his eyes between where Borch was changing form and Jaskier and would have blushed if it were possible. He resolutely looked away, focusing instead on his father who was now looking down at him with dark eyes. He chirped up at him happily, launching himself into the air to clamber up onto his head. He thought he heard a choked off laugh at his antics but must have imagined it. There was no way that the man who had been ignoring him so studiously would now be laughing at his childishness. 

He pretended to be far too busy to help as Geralt wrapped a large net around the extra bags and lashed them to Borch’s stomach so that he could easily carry them. Borch turned his head at one point to shoot his son a rather unimpressed look. Jaskier pulled a face in response, poking his tongue out. He was not going to be the one to start the awkward conversation that he knew was coming, especially not when they were about to be stuck travelling together for several hours. 

It was a matter of minutes before Geralt was being lifted onto Borch’s back, something that had Jaskier smothering a snigger at the grumpy look on the man’s face. Then it suddenly clicked to him that the most logical place for Geralt to be during their flight was at the base of Borch’s neck, where they had wrapped some ropes around to keep the witcher tied into place so he wouldn’t be thrown off at any point. Jaskier made a small meeping noise and decided that he would be flying as much as he could himself. It would be much better than being stuck unable to talk to the witcher but also unable to leave. 

As soon as Borch had them aloft, Jaskier leaped off and started playing in the currents created by Borch’s flight. Geralt made a rather abrupt sound as he had launched himself into the air and then fell silent. After so long being ignored by the man, Jaskier could feel his gaze as if it burnt into his scales as he flew. If he started showing off a little bit, there was no way that Geralt could know beyond the indulgent snort that Borch gave which was thankfully snatched away by the wind. 

He knew that Borch was slowing slightly to allow him to catch up, but they would still make much better time than anyone would if they walked the whole way to Kovir so he refused to feel guilty. Besides, it felt far too good to have this kind of freedom. He had been afraid that being out in the world again like this would have paralysed him with fear, but instead he could feel nothing but giddy joy as he played in the updrafts coming off of Borch’s wings. 

It was so freeing, the sense that if he wanted he could disappear into the blue sky that extended all around him. Borch had guided them high enough that all that people on the ground would see was a large shadow as it went by, something that reassured the little dragon. He just wanted to drift here, in the open space and the quiet. He felt like he could almost recapture the feeling he had those few hours before he had been taken. The complete freedom, the knowledge that he had with him two men who would protect him with their lives, one out of filial love and the other out of a sense of duty, the ability to go soaring off in any direction and exploring like he had dreamed of in his mother’s dungeon or in that awful cage. He ignored the way that the wind was burning his eyes until tears were whipped away by the breeze, despite the fact that his eyes had a second membrane to prevent this very thing happening as he flew. 

“Julain,” Borch said, his voice echoing in Jaskier’s mind. “You must tell me when you get tired. You have not had the chance to build up your stamina with flying, and I won’t have you overtaxing yourself.” 

He could hear the pride in his father’s voice as he spoke, so he didn’t allow himself to get too worked up. 

“Alright, fine. I promise not to overdo it. But I would like to fly as much as I can, it is good practice after all and I need to make sure I can teach Saskia a thing or two once I get back.” He grinned to himself as he did a few rolls through the air, enjoying his father’s laughter when he dove in front of him and twirled away with a shriek of glee. 

He could hear Geralt’s harsh intake of breath as he dropped by him at speed, but was far too caught up in the joy of the moment to worry about how the witcher was taking it all. He would have plenty of time to worry about how he would deal with being forced into such close confines with the man who had been his best friend in the entire world and now seemed to want to have a little to do with him as possible. Jaksier refused to allow his emotions to ruin this moment. He had spent far too long allowing the darkness to take over his life, he would embrace every positive experience he could and make the most of it. There was no point borrowing trouble when he knew it would all come to a head later on. 

Jaksier let out a roar, all of his joy and excitement coming out of his mouth and proclaiming to the world around him that he was alive and he was not completely broken by the hardships he had been through. Borch let his voice join with that of his son, the sound strong and rumbling as it filled the air around them and wrapped Jaskier in the waves of love and care he could feel coming from the older man. 


	26. Begins to rumble at the world

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier has to face the consequences of showing off.

By the time the sun started to lower, Jaskier was exhausted. He had ignored his father’s reminders that he should take it easy and not push himself too far on his first day, having far too much fun flying alongside Borch, and anyway he was able to use the bigger dragon’s currents to ease the resistance and make it easier to keep up. It did mean that when Borch started angling lower, clearly getting ready to find a place to stay for the night, Jaskier couldn’t stop the grateful sigh that escaped him. 

Borch guided him down into an empty clearing close to the mountain range they had been skirting around. Jaskier dropped to the ground as his father alighted rather more gracefully, wincing at the way his wings trembled and seemed to refuse to fold down after the extended flight. He ignored the way Borch was watching him carefully while Geralt untied himself from his position on his back, focusing on trying to stretch out the ache in his shoulders and wings. 

“Julian, I believe I told you to take it easy,” Borch rumbled, nudging at him with his nose when Jaskier wobbled tiredly on his feet. 

“I know, I know, but it was such a nice flight. I promise not to fly tomorrow; I don’t think I could if I tried,” Jaskier said meekly, resisting the urge to complain when Borch lifted him and moved him closer to the spot that he had cleared in preparation for their fire for the night like he was kitten. He could feel Geralt watching them discreetly as he organised their packs and started looking through them for an evening meal and hated the fact that the man was seeing him being treated like a wayward child. He batted at Borch half heartedly with his claws when the man continued to fuss over him. 

“Geralt, would you look after Julian for me? I can hear some goats nearby and would prefer not to dip into our supplies just yet. Fresh meat will be much better while we can get it, and I doubt Julian will have the energy to cause too much trouble at the moment.” 

Geralt nodded at the dragon’s request, shading his eyes with his arm as Borch took off, the sun glinting off of his golden scales as he flew towards the mountains with as much speed as he had shown at the beginning of the day. 

Jaskier grumbled to himself about the unfairness of it all. How was Borch still so energetic when all he wanted was to curl up and sleep for the next hundred years? He was so preoccupied with his complaining, he almost didn’t notice Geralt offering him a waterskin. 

He snorted in disbelief at the man. “While I appreciate the gesture, Geralt, I am going to have to decline. I doubt you have ever seen a dragon try to drink out of a waterskin, and I certainly won’t be showing you tonight. There are some things that are beneath even my dignity.” 

He couldn’t stop the way his tongue seemed to run away with him, settling back into his old habits of teasing the witcher as if the man had not been avoiding him for weeks. He swore in his mind when the man just blinked at him, his golden eyes blazing even more than usually against the rather exaggerated cut of his cheekbones where he had lost weight recently. 

Geralt looked at him in confusion for a moment before turning and stomping away. Jaskier kept berating himself, angry that he had made it awkward between them when the man had clearly been going out of his way to be polite and initiate contact. He almost missed the bowl of water that was shoved under his nose, the witcher quickly retreating to poke through the packs again as if embarrassed. 

Jaskier blinked down at the bowl in confusion, looking from the water to the witcher and back again. “Um, thank you, Geralt. This is much better. Um, yeah, I’ll just...” 

He dipped his head to drink, glad that his scales wouldn’t reveal the blush he was sure would have been staining his human skin. While he knew that he should not let this single gesture smooth away weeks of being ignored, he knew himself well enough to acknowledge that he would forgive the witcher almost anything. 

He had experienced too much hatred and disdain from the people who had claimed to be his family, it had left him rather possessive of the people who did care for him and given him a rather unfortunate habit of being clingy. It was something that had come back to bite him numerous times, especially in his days at Oxenfurt when he had been so desperate to be seen as valuable and worth the professors time, and Geralt was someone he wanted in his life as much as possible. He had few enough friends in this world and would do whatever it took to keep the ones he had. 

He could almost hear Yennefer’s outraged screech, her indignation at the bard selling himself short. He knew that she would make the man grovel, would delight in seeing him apologise profusely and try to win back her affections, gods, he had seen them go through that song and dance often enough. Jaskier couldn’t bring himself to do that though, to expect some grand gesture of contrition from the taciturn man. 

He was aware it was most likely his awfully low sense of self worth speaking, despite the bravado he tried to cover it up with, but he also knew that he just couldn’t bear to put Geralt through something like that. He had been there to pick up the pieces each time the man had fought with Yennefer, the two’s tumultuous relationship frequently bringing them together for passionate screaming matches as much as for tender moments, and knew just how much the witcher made himself miserable when he thought he had hurt someone that he cared for. 

If the man was willing to try and mend the breach between them with his small offers, Jaskier was not going to throw it in his face. He would take the offered olive branch, but he knew that he would need to keep his heart safe as well. The witcher would never care for him in the way he so ardently wished for and that was something that he would just have to learn to live with. 

Geralt seemed determined to spend the time waiting for Borch to return in silence, sorting through their supplies and setting up the camp for the night. He kept pulling things from the packs and Jaskier saw him pause as he pulled a second bedroll from the pack for a moment before pausing and brusquely shoving it back into the pack. Jasier caught a whiff of his own scent on the breeze and jumped over to the pack, scrabbling around to see what Geralt had tried to hide. 

“Is that my old bedroll? The one you brought me when I kept complaining that there were no comfortable beds in the bloody woods you kept choosing for us to stay in? You brought it along!” 

Geralt stepped away, averting his eyes as Jaskier bounced around excitedly, trying to pull the bedroll from the bag with his teeth and ending up spilling most of their supplies onto the ground in the effort. He did end up with the bedroll out, to his credit, but was stymied by the fact that it was tied to to make it more manageable to carry and he was currently lacking the dexterity to unravel it. 

“Come on Geralt, can you please untie it for me? This will be so much more comfortable than sleeping on the ground or on top of Borch. Don’t tell him I said this, but while he is rather warm he is also not the softest of surfaces to try and sleep on.” 

Geralt sighed and pushed him out of the way gently, not making eye contact as he complied with the dragon’s demands. Jaskier wasn’t too worried, keeping up a running commentary about how excited he was to sleep on an actual bed roll and the nostalgia of being out in the middle of nowhere again like this. 

“And really Geralt,” Jaskier nattered on as he watched the man work, “I think that you do need to think about the amount of time you spend sleeping in the wild rather than in inns and such. You would be a lot less crabby if you would just treat yourself to the finer things in life from time to time instead of trying to live up to your broody, all witchers must suffer to prove how manly they are schtick. It certainly might have made some of our adventures a little more enjoyable, not that sleeping rough wasn’t character building and all that, but still, is a comfy bed really too much to ask for sometimes? And another thing,,” 

“Jaskier,” Geralt said, his voice breaking through Jaskier’s chatter with its low rumble. “Do you ever stop talking?” 

“Hah, like you haven’t said the exact same thing about a million times before. You know me better than that, Geralt, I don’t know why you are surprised.” 

Jaskier did his best not to preen as a small smile flickered across Geralt’s face, even as the man turned away from him and started trying to get a fire ready. He made himself comfortable on the bedroll, keeping up a running commentary as he watched the man work. He couldn't deny the warm feeling in his chest at the thought of Geralt bringing Jaskier’s supplies like he had on all of their other adventures, not thinking that as a dragon Jaskier probably had far less use for them. 

By the time Borch returned with a goat hanging from his claws, Jaskier was happily sitting on top of the packs prattling away while Geralt was oiling his armour. He took a moment to look between the pair of them, somehow managing to look disbelieving even with his less expressive dragon face, before deciding not to comment. He dropped the goat in front of Geralt. 

“Would you be able to dress this, master witcher? I would prefer not to waste energy on shifting forms when it will be better served focusing on our travels, but I doubt that either of you would like the taste of raw mountain goat. It is an acquired taste, I have been told.” 

Geralt immediately swung into action, looking awkwardly at where Borch was giving Jaskier a rather judgmental look and laughing at the affronted way in which Jaskier jumped onto his father and started batting at his face in annoyance. Jaskier knew that the witcher was still listening to them, the way he twitched as Jaskier let out a high pitched squawk before launching his attack on his father’s tail evidence enough. 

While he knew he should probably be trying to act less like an overgrown child, he couldn’t help himself. He was just so thrilled to be out in the world, he couldn’t contain his enthusiasm and to be frank, he didn’t want to. If he could keep having moments like this, with his father and the man that he loved out under the stars, free from the fear of Vilgefortz and imprisonment, then he would be a very content dragon. 


	27. You’ve been oh oh so kind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier, Borch, and Geralt keep travelling.

Jaskier was not given a choice about flying the next day. As they readied themselves to leave, Geralt and Borch shared a look before Geralt picked Jaskier up, ignoring his squawks of protest, before strapping him onto Borch’s back just in front of where he then tied himself. Both men ignored the way that Jaskier complained, Borch quickly taking to the air and continuing on his way. 

Jaskier was relieved, not that he would ever let the others know. He could barely move his wings. His muscles screamed at him with every movement, not used to so much activity after his imprisonment. While it had been glorious to be able for so long the day before, he knew that if he had tried today, he would have fallen from the sky like a lodestone. Not really the image that he wanted Geralt to see of him. He would much rather have the witcher think him the picture of grace and elegance, but that ship had probably long since sailed. He would settle for being slightly more than incompetent, anything more than that was probably wishful thinking. 

It did mean a long amount of time spent in close confines to Geralt with no real way to talk to him. Well, Jaskier could talk to him, what with the telepathic dragon communication and all, but it wasn’t any fun if he couldn’t even see the man’s face as he tried to hide his responses. Instead, he decided to spend his time cat napping, hoping that it would ease the ache in his muscles. Instead, all it did was leave him aching worse than ever, as his muscles locked up in awkward positions and then were not able to be worked loose. 

When they stopped for the night, Jaskier could barely walk. He had to be lifted down from Borch’s back and even then, he staggered his way around their little camp as Geralt set up the bedrolls. He waited until Borch had gathered some dry brush from nearby, happily lighting it and then sitting almost in the flames. The heat seemed to help work the tension from his muscles. 

He hadn’t noticed that Geralt hadn’t seen this before. The man let out a short cry, lunging towards him like he would pull him from the fire before he seemed to remember himself. He crouched before him, looking at him in curiosity where he lay with flames licking at his sides. 

“I’m fine, Geralt, I promise. It’s just nice and warm, nothing too exciting,” Jaskier said, wanting to ease the concern in the man’s eyes. The witcher didn’t reply, studying him intently with those bright amber eyes. 

“Stop showing off, hatchling,” Borch rumbled, nudging at Jaskier with his nose. Jaskier huffed at him, spitting sparks when Geralt seemed to remember himself and quickly moved away from the small dragon to busy himself with his swords. He grumpily moved himself out of the flames, complaining under his breath at the pain in his wings. Borch didn’t help matters, chucking at his son and giving him that  _ I told you so  _ look that had Jaskier wanting to hit him or at the very least construct a really offensive song. 

He kept muttering to himself, wanting to make his displeasure known. He could feel the amusement reverberating off of Geralt as he pulled some of the leftover meat from the night before from the packs and growled in annoyance. He wasn’t some child to be laughed at, but his muscles hurt and he was not pleased. 

“I assume that we should be pleased that you are comfortable enough to complain about your pain, Julian,” Borch said as he settled down for the night, “but I am resisting the urge to remind you of what I told you yesterday. There is only one person responsible for your tired wings right now.” 

Jaskier glared at him, not willing to admit that this was all his fault, but also not wanting to deny that he was pretty proud of himself for feeling normal enough to to complain. He almost missed Geralt moving to sit next to him, hesitantly offering him some of the food he was eating. Jaskier took it, munching happily and ignoring Borch as he watched him from across the fire. 

Geralt cleared his throat awkwardly. “If your wings still hurt, I think I have some of that oil in my pack that you used to use when I pulled something on a hunt. It might help you get some more movement back.” 

Jaskier spun around to look at him, forcing himself not to coo at the way the witcher was refusing to look at him even as he offered to help the dragon with a rather insignificant issue all things considered. The man looked like he was in severe emotional pain just offering, so of course Jaskier could not help himself. 

“That sounds like luxury, Geralt. Thank you so much. I am rather lacking in opposable thumbs and can’t really reach. Would you be willing to lend a hand beyond just offering the oil?” 

He couldn’t believe his own daring and almost took off as soon as the words slipped out of his mouth, instantly regretting it all. It proved to be worth it though, the shy little look that Geralt sent him as he nodded briskly before focusing on his food making his heart jump in his chest. 

He tried to play it cool, focus on his own food and not stare adoringly at Geralt like he wanted to. Wearing his heart on his sleeve like he tended to was not the best idea when his father figure was watching over the pair of them. It was just in his nature as a bard to be on the more expressive side of things; he couldn’t help the way that he wanted to curl up in the witcher’s lap and forget everything that had happened since that day on the mountain. Unfortunately for him, he had to live in the real world and that meant dealing with the fact that as much as he wanted to accept the unspoken apology the man seemed to be offering, he had to guard his heart and not allow it to be torn to pieces once again when the man changed his mind. 

Thankfully, Geralt was far too oblivious to notice. The man merely grunted and finished his food before grabbing the vial. Jaskier notices that he had kept it close to him, rather optimistically if Jaskier was honest, but he wasn’t complaining. He just wriggled in delight as the man spread some oil on his hands before moving to sit behind Jaskier. 

The first touch of fingers to the tender skin at the base of his wings had Jaskier letting out a rather unfortunate sound that was higher in pitch than he had ever wanted to admit to. He turned and nipped at the witcher’s leg when he heard the man chuckle at him, grumbling when Geralt pushed his head away gently before resuming. 

“So, wings are rather sensitive then. I’ll be careful,” the man rumbled, his cautious touch at odds with his usual rough and tough demeanour. 

It was moments like these that Jaskier wanted the witcher to remember, moments where the man showed that he was more than the mutated monster that he had convinced himself he was and was a caring, compassionate man who helped those in need. Not that Jaskier felt like he could mention this to the man. He might have, once upon a time in a world where he had not been stuffed into a cage or sent off of a mountain and then lost himself, but for tonight he would have to content himself with the knowledge that he was able to see this side of the witcher and remind himself that there were people out there who would be so tender even with someone who had effectively lied to him for years and then caused him so much conflict in the one place he considered a home. 

Any introspective thoughts were pushed from his head almost immediately to be replaced with a wave of  _ oh god that is amazing holy shit why do I not make him do this every second of the day _ as Geralt started coaxing the tightness from his muscles. He groaned aloud, his head dropping to the dirt as he went boneless so that Geralt had to hold him up as he dug his fingers into the knots at the base of his wings. He could hear Borch and Geralt talking, their deep baritones rolling through the air soothingly, but couldn’t bring himself to focus on their words when there was absolute bliss seeping through him as the tension in his back slowly loosened and a warm contentment spread through in its place. 

He didn’t know how long he spent there as Geralt’s hands worked over his shoulders and wings. He knew that he shuddered from time to time as Geralt hit a particularly ticklish spot, and that at one point he squeaked and tried to pull away when the witcher touched a rather angry knot between his shoulder blades, but he mostly drifted on a tide of emotion. He didn’t notice the sound that was escaping him as he allowed himself to relax, the gentle, lilting crooning that was twisting gently through the air. He only noticed when Geralt pulled his hands away and both men stop talking, looking at him with a strange expression on their faces. 

“Julian,” Borch said carefully. “What were you singing?” 

Jaskier blinked at him in confusion, slowly surfacing from the clouds of contentment. “I was singing? I didn’t realise, sorry.” 

Geralt moved back from behind him, coming to stand between Borch and Jaskier so that he could look the younger dragon in the eye. “It was some kind of enchantment; my medallion started vibrating and I could feel your magic in the air.” 

Jaskier looked between the two of them in shock before scoffing. 

“Great prank, everyone. We all know that I’m nowhere near powerful enough to have any impact on a witcher. Very funny though.” 

Borch snorted at him, a cloud of sparks enveloping his head for a moment until he shook them all away. “Would I joke with you about something like this, hatchling? I guess we have found your area of specialty, not that it is any real surprise. You don’t seem to share my talent for polymorphism, we would have seen you beginning to shift your form in small ways already if you were going to have more than just your human and draconid forms. I had wondered when you would start to show some indication of your talents though, but of course that despicable” here Borch resorted to a series of roaring snarls that had Jaskier looking at the man in shock, “would have had an impact on your development. We will have to keep an eye on you; enchanting a witcher this quickly is clearly an indication of your strength. You are a golden dragon after all, Julian, you were always going to be special.” 

Jaskier continued to stare at the man in absolute shock. There was no way in hell he was able to magically sing. Nope, not happening, not today, not ever, no how.

He didn’t realise that he was muttering to himself until Geralt stepped forward, a hand raised tentatively like he was going to try and soothe Jaskier. The dragon couldn’t help the way he skittered back, shaking his head like he could somehow make it untrue, make it so that this conversation had never happened. 

“No, it can’t take this from me, I won’t let it. My singing is the one thing I have that I made for myself. I spent hours and hours in Oxenfurt, training and singing and learning everything I could and now it’s fucking tainted by the shithole that is my life? No, I refuse, I won’t fucking let it!” 

He started clawing at himself reflexively, his mind skittering back into that awful darkness that it had become so accustomed to during his time in Touissant. He heard Borch move towards him, starting to speak, before Geralt stopped him and moved to crouch in front of the dragon where he cowered, ripping at his skin until the gold was laced with crimson. 

“Jaskier,” he said, his voice the same quiet tone that the dragon had seen him used on children as they sat covered in the blood of their families on a hunt gone wrong. “Calm down and think for a moment. There is no way that this takes away from all of the training that you have done. As soon as you get your human form back, I am sure that you will be the same annoying, cocksure flirt singing your way into beds across the Continent. This doesn’t have to change anything, you are still Jaskier, still better than that Marx person that you keep complaining about.” 

“It’s Valdo Marx, Geralt, and he’s just awful. He sounds like a cat being skinned and thinks that is somehow better than me,” Jaskier wailed, pulling his mouth from where it was clamped around his leg gnawing and wincing at the taste of blood in his mouth as he slowly came back to himself. 

Geralt’s lips twitched in what Jaskier had long ago learned to recognise as a smile. “Of course, because there is no one else who could come up with that awful song about coins. And if it turns out that now you have a little magical boost to your voice, then that is just another aspect of Jaskier the bard, something that you can use to continue on your ridiculous quest to be the biggest flirt in the Continent.” 

Jaskier couldn’t help the smile that twitched his own lips at that point, even as his heart hurt a bit at the idea that Geralt saw him as little more than a flirt. While he did most certainly enjoy sampling the various pleasures that could be found across the Continent, he hadn’t been sampling them to their fullest extent for a while now. He had been far more invested in padding around after Geralt like the pathetic puppy that Yennefer had called him, too caught up in his ridiculous infatuation and his daydreams about a magical fantasy land where Geralt felt at least half of what he felt for him. 

The witcher slowly extended a hand, pausing just before he touched Jaskier and waiting for him to allow the contact. Jaskier paused for a moment, considering, before he pushed his head against the witcher’s hand, trying to force from his mind the idea that he was acting just like that pathetic puppy. It was worth it though, when Geralt quickly found the place on his head that had him purring and pushing against his head to encourage more pats. 

He could push down his existential crisis for now. Especially if Geralt would keep patting him and treating him like he cared. That would be enough to keep the fear at bay, at least until he had a bit more time to process everything and come to terms with the way his life had changed, again. 


	28. Never say

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier and Geralt get a chance to talk.

“Alright, are you two boys going to be sensible if I leave you alone? I don’t want to come back to find one of you dead or both of you in trouble with the local authorities or something equally ridiculous.” Borch looked from Geralt to Jaskier seriously, the twinkle in his eyes belaying the way he tried to hide his smile behind his moustache. 

Geralt instantly started trying to reassure the man, detailing the protections he would take to ensure Jaskier’s safety and all sorts of other rubbish, but Jaskier immediately grinned to himself. 

“I promise to only set ten things on fire while you are gone. More if you take too long. Hurry back!” He tried to force his voice to sound cheerful and mischievous, even though he had stopped fretting about his magic taking his music from him. He could see that Borch knew that it was forced, but took him at his word. He rapped the dragon gently on the nose before turning to Geralt. 

“Good luck with that one, master witcher. I will be back as soon as possible. There should be a decent amount of dimeritium here and then we can move on to the next town. If I’m not back by sundown, take Jaskier back to Kaer Morhen.” 

The dragon gave one last affectionate tap to Jaskier’s head and then walked off, whistling softly to himself as he went. He had that grandfatherly persona that he wrapped around himself like a shield to hide the power of the dragon, and Jaskier knew that he would take the town by storm.

Once Borch was out of sight, Jaskier turned to look at Geralt. The witcher was already frowning, studying his hands as if they contained the answers to the question of life itself. Jaskier sighed, anticipating a very awkward day now that Borch wasn’t around to at least temper their interactions. Fantastic. 

“So, Geralt. Before you start doing that ridiculous thing where you start going over your armour and weapons like there is magically going to be some kind of fault that you didn’t notice in the last four thousand times you have checked on them because you are a big grumpy mountain man who can’t talk about his feelings and instead resorts to grunting, what are we going to do today? I for one am not going to just sit here and be bored, so we need to find  _ something _ to do before I go crazy.” 

“Hm,” Geralt grunted, his lips twitching at Jaskier in that way that the dragon decided to interpret as him laughing uncontrollably at how hilarious he was. Unfortunately for Geralt, Jaskier was not in the mood for the witcher appreciating the comedic genius that he was. He was in the mood for Geralt to figure out just how they were meant to occupy themselves while Borch was gone so that he did not spend all of his time brooding and working himself into a panic over all of the things in his life that were not going according to plan. 

“Geralt, so help me, if you do not come up with something for me to do, I will do something completely stupid and then you will have to explain to Borch why you allowed me to get into trouble like that. I am sure that he will be more than pleased to let you know what he’s thinking about it all then.” 

Jaskier pulled a face at him, almost bouncing out of his skin with all of his pent up energy. He knew he probably looked like a maniac, but really, what did the man expect. He had travelled with him for years and years (not that Jaskier was allowing himself to believe that they were back to usual, he would be making this man apologise for all of his shot for once if they were ever going to be like they were) and he should be more than used to these moods of Jaskier’s. 

Sometimes it was like there was a current running through him, electrifying him and leaving him unable to sit still. He was pretty sure it was a product of his childhood, a remnant of the time when he had been so confined and controlled by his mother and his inability to shift that he had spent days feeling like he would lose his mind if he wasn’t able to run or jump or do something, anything to get his body moving until his mind stopped screaming at him. Travelling with Geralt had been one of the few times that he hadn’t experienced that on a regular basis; the constant travelling and the natural high of performing at every inn or tavern they stayed in keeping him busy enough that he never felt the build up of energy. 

“Fine,” Geralt said, pulling his usual grouchy face at Jaskier as if this was the greatest inconvenience to ever happen to him, which was a lie because Jaskier was a delight on a usual day and while he was not back to his usual standards, he was sure as hell getting there. “Borch said I had to keep you safe, so let’s get a sense of just how well you can protect yourself.” 

With that, Geralt went from sitting and looking at his swords as if contemplating sharpening them for the millionth time, to launching himself at Jaskier, sword arcing as he pirouetted towards him. Jaskier let out a small squeak, jumping back and hissing at the witcher before quickly jumping into the air. He had to dive quickly to avoid the aard the man sent at him, screeching his displeasure as he went. 

“What the actual fuck, Geralt?” he yelled, twirling away from the stream of igni that came his way. “Have you finally lost your mind? Did you leave your last brain cell behind with Eskel and Lambert?” 

The witcher chuckled at him, jumping up into the air and catching hold of Jaskier’s tail. He yanked the dragon down, baring his teeth in a rather savage grin when Jaskier quickly clawed at his hand until he let go and spat flames at him. Jaskier didn’t want to hurt the man, but it was sure getting tempting with the way he had twisted his tail. 

“Fight back, Jaskier. It’s not like you could actually hurt me,” Geralt called when the dragon hovered just out of reach. That fucking did it. There was no way Jaskier was taking that kind of smack talk. 

He took a moment to suck in air before unleashing a rather dramatic stream of fire down at the witcher. The man cast a quick quen just before he was scorched to hell, swearing when it exploded in a shower of sparks much quicker than he seemed to have been expecting. Jaskier had to duck out of the way as some of his own flames were redirected back at him with the explosion, but it was still more than satisfying to see the smug grin drop from Geralt’s face as it creased in concentration. 

That seemed to signal the start of the fight in earnest, both of them launching themselves into it with everything they had. The witcher quickly started finding things to throw at the dragon when he was out of reach, rocks, twigs, and all sorts of other random objects becoming projectiles for him to avoid. Jaskier found that a continuous stream of fire wasn’t the most effective of tactics, using small dips closer to the witcher to try and get in sneak attacks when he wasn’t performing a rather elaborate aerial ballet to keep out of the reach of the witcher’s long arms, terrifyingly high leaps, and various thrown objects. 

They managed to keep it up for much longer than Jaskier would have expected, until the dragon didn’t see a rock thrown by the witcher until it was too late. It hit him in the side of the head, stunning him enough that he couldn’t keep himself out of reach of the witcher and ended up being pulled into the man’s arms by his back legs. He bitched and complained, especially when the man grabbed his head in one head and said “dead” in that awful, smug little voice he had. 

“Yeah yeah, I should think so, mister I have been killing things for longer than you have been alive. Really, you should be ashamed of how long it took you to catch me, you must be getting slow in your old age.” Jaskier knew that he sounded bitter, but still. He wasn’t going to accept defeat gracefully and Geralt should know better than to expect it from him. 

“You did well, Jaskier, for someone who is usually not a fighter.” 

“Hmph, shows what you know. I choose to be a lover rather than a fighter, Geralt, that doesn’t mean that I can’t look after myself most of the time. I just prefer to let you do all the heavy lifting. You always seem so happy to swing that big sword of yours around,” he trailed off with a little grin, hoping to keep the mood lighthearted. The look in Geralt’s eyes said that he wasn’t going to be terribly successful with that.

“I should have trusted you more,” he said, putting the dragon down on the ground. He knew that he was far too big for Geralt to hold for a long period of time, but he still hated the loss of contact. He curled his tail around himself to try and replicate the feeling of being held, hating the way Geralt’s eyes tracked the movement. “I should never have made you feel as if I didn’t need you around, I just, fuck.” 

Jaskier could almost see how painful it was for the witcher to try and articulate his feelings in this way. Part of him wanted to tell the man not to worry, that Jaskier didn’t need the pretty words or anything and that they would just keep going as usual, but he knew that wasn’t true. He needed to hear from Geralt why the man had put him through so much shit, both on the mountain top and in Kaer Morhen. He needed to hear why the man thought he could treat him like shit and then expect Jaskier to just pick up the pieces and follow after him like an obedient little puppy. He really needed to hear Geralt tell him that he felt the same burning affection for him that he did for the witcher, that the man was the so incredibly important to him and that he was the reason for so many of the man’s choices and actions, but that was expecting far too much of the man and Jaskier knew better than to be greedy. 

“Alright, Geralt. If you want to talk feelings, we can talk. Just take a breath, take a moment, and say what you need to. We have time before Borch will return, so you don’t need to worry about having an audience or anything. I promise that I will sit quietly and listen to what you need to say, as much as I can ever sit quietly but then you knew that before you started and I am rambling now aren’t I, oh gods I am ruining this before you ever get a chance to tell me what you wanted to and now you will never share your feelings again and that isn’t good for you, Geralt, you’ll get all emotionally constipated and crabby and...” 

The witcher’s lips twitched as he nudged Jaskier, jolting him out of the horrific torrent of words that had been pouring out of him. He nodded thankfully before trying to assume a suitable position to show that he was paying attention, nodding at the witcher to continue. 

  
“Whenever you are ready, Geralt. Take your time.” 


	29. The madness that lingers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt explains his perspective of the last few months.

Geralt looked pained at the thought of having to talk about his feelings. The poor man looked like he would much rather knee deep in a horde of nekkers than having this conversation, but Jaskier was not going to allow him to duck out of this one. There were things that needed to be said before they could ruin this new equilibrium that they had reached. 

“On the mountain, I just, there was so much. Yen was pissed at me for not telling her about the djinn’s wish, I had seen Téa, Véa, and Borch die and it had been my fault but then they were fine, I knew that I had a child surprise out there but I was too scared to claim her, to let her become one more person that I cared for and had to keep safe in a world where everything seems to be trying to kill the people I worry about. And then there was you, the human who kept following me into danger without thinking of the consequences, who trusted me to keep him safe and treated me like I was just a man rather than the monster or tool that everyone else seemed to think I was. But I could see that you were in pain, that there was something wrong with you and had been for a while now, but you wouldn’t tell me what it was.” 

Geralt paused, looking even more stoic than usual. Jaskier hated it, hated the mask of the unfeeling monster that he used to hide how much he felt, but if this is what it took for the man to be able to explain himself then Jaskier would have to deal with it. There was no way in hell he was interrupting Geralt when the man was finally talking for once. Melitele only knew when he would talk like this again. 

“It just, it kept adding up and up and I couldn’t think anymore. Couldn’t find a way to make it all stop happening, stop getting worse and worse. And then you started trying to reassure me, to make me feel as if this wasn’t all my fault, and I couldn’t take it. All I wanted was some space to process everything, but then I was saying these awful things to you and I could see how much it was affecting you. I felt like I finally had power over something, that it wasn’t just destiny controlling every fucking facet of my life.” 

Geralt’s face twisted slightly, self loathing pulling his lips into a sneer that Jaskier wanted to smooth away. 

“You had always taken it before. Every time I take it all out on you, you would just tell me to stop being ridiculous or start singing some song about my  _ sword _ not satisfying women or something and then it would be fine. I had been using you as my own personal punching bag for years and I couldn’t allow myself to stop and think about how that must be affecting you. Of course it was affecting you; I was a fucking idiot to not think about that.” 

Jaskier couldn’t help the warmth in his chest at that, and how pathetic was that. Just the acknowledgement that he had been treated like shit by the man that he had spent so long with, considered his best friend in this entire world, made him so ridiculously happy. Really, he was a pathetic people pleaser and always had been. Borch had given him far too many lectures when they had been living in the cave about boundaries and the need to put himself first, but that just wasn’t the way he was built. He was someone who put others before his own happiness, always had been, and if that meant taking the shit that they all heaped on him as much as he took pride in their happiness, then so be it. 

“But then you left. After all of the shit I had said to you over the years, this was the thing that pushed you over the edge. I looked for you, thought you had just gone off somewhere to lick your wounds and when I found you, you would have some snarky little quip and then we would keep travelling like normal. When I couldn’t find you, I tried to convince myself that this was nothing, that it was just like all those times we had parted for the winter and that I would see you at some point. I refused to think about how you would get back off of the mountain, about how much pain you had been in. But I kept looking for you in every town I passed through.” 

“Then I heard about Cintra falling, and all I could think of was that you would be so mad at me if I allowed my pride to keep me from protecting my child surprise. So I went to Cintra, had to deal with Calanthe and then chase Ciri halfway across the bloody Continent when Nilfgaard invaded. But I found her and brought her to Kaer Morhen, all the while thinking that at some point we would run into you and you would be able to help me with this child, this traumatised, half feral girl that I was now responsible for. You have no idea how many times I wished you were there, Jaskier, how many times I wanted you to help me when Ciri was crying for her grandmother, when she was too scared to be left alone at the camp so that I could find her food even as her stomach was growling loud enough to be heard in Skellige.” 

“That was even worse somehow, when I realised that I was missing more than just your company, your singing, your commentary about every fucking thing that happened. Somehow, I had allowed you to become my touchstone for interacting with the world. It helped, to try and imagine how you would comfort Ciri, how you would talk to her and joke with her and find a way to make her trust you even when everyone she had known was dead or willing to hand her over to Nilfgaard for a handful of coins. You got both of us through so much in that time, Jaskier, and you weren’t even here. Stories of you were some of the only things that could calm her down when she would wake up in the night screaming.” 

Sweet Melitele, it was a good thing that dragons could not physically cry. This was breaking his heart listening to Geralt talk about all of this. While it made him feel a lot better about himself, because he liked the ego boost as much as the next person thank you very much, the idea of Geralt feeling so alone that he was reliant on the memory of Jaskier to try and lighten the burden of his life was breaking his heart. 

“When Yennefer brought you to Kaer Morhen, gods Jaskier. I should never have let you leave alone, never have put you in the position where you could have been taken. It was my fault that Vilgefortz was able to take you. I was the one who was meant to protect you. What fucking good am I as a witcher if I can’t even keep my ... keep you safe?” 

That was the one thing that Jaskier would not take. He was not about to let Geralt blame himself for this. “No, you don’t get to do this, Geralt,” he said, sparks spitting from his mouth with his frustration. “What happened to me has nothing to do with you. You are not my keeper or my protector; I am a grown man, dragon, whatever the fuck you want to go with, and I do not need you to take responsibility for my choices. I was the idiot who decided to go off on my own when I hadn’t gotten a full handle on the whole dragon thing. I was the idiot who decided that satisfying my stupid need to keep moving was worth more than my safety, and look what fucking happened.” 

He found himself getting all choked up, which was ridiculous when he wasn’t even using vocal cords to communicate given that he was not capable of human speech right now. Ugh, how dare his emotions choose this moment to come back in a major way and bite him in the ass. 

“You need to stop trying to take everyone else's problems and make them your own. I am the one responsible for my own choices; don’t try to take that from me. You treated me like shit, Geralt, all because I made a mistake and had to live through the consequences. You need to stop this. All it is doing is making the rest of us feel like we have to be responsible for your emotional state on top of everything else, and let me tell you, right now, I cannot handle anything else other than what is going on in my own head.” 

Geralt was looking at him in shock and Jaskier just hoped to all of the gods that he was actually listening and thinking about what he had said. If he could just get this idiot to think about how his guilt over every little thing affected the people he cared for, then maybe Geralt would be able to push past some of the barriers that kept everyone in his life at bay. Yennefer would thank him at least, when the two inevitably fell back into bed together. He knew that the mage had been rather pissed at the way that Geralt took all of her choices onto himself, too fiercely independent to appreciate that level of protection from someone else. 

Jaskier glared down at his claws for a moment, wanting to give himself a second to calm down and not be so worked up. He noticed that he had been kneading at the floor with his claws, churning up the dirt underneath him like some kind of cat. He hissed in annoyance and started trying to pat the ground back into shape, hating that he was so transparent with his emotions. 

Geralt made a strangled noise. Jaskier looked up to see his face creasing as he thought through what he had said. It was reassuring, at least, to know that Geralt was taking his words seriously. He was used to people not listening to him. For someone who spent so much of his life taking and singing, he was accustomed to being ignored and forced into the background. 

At least with Geralt, he knew that he was being listened to, that he wasn’t just a noise to block out. Even when he was at his most annoying, Geralt had always grumped at him rather than ignore him. It was one of the things that Jaskier appreciated most from the witcher, and he had to say he was getting rather needier than usual with it, which would be shit if he ever managed to get back to performing in palaces and the like but what could you do when people had a tendency for locking you in cages or dungeons and ignoring you expect when they wanted to see you hurt? While the witcher had made a show of ignoring him every now and then, Jaskier had learnt to read the man far too well for him to get away with it, the minute twitches of his shoulders or his lips practically eloquent sonnets about the depths of his emotions to the bard. 

“I, Jaskier, I just. Fuck. Fuck, fuck fuck. How does everything get fucked to shit like this?” Geralt snarled, turning and stomping back and forth. He snarled and swore for a few moments, flinging a few aards at the poor rocks that dared to be anywhere near him. He was used to this, used to Geralt having to work through his emotions in such an explosive manner. It was most likely the only way he was taught to deal with it all, what with the witcher school being some ridiculous, super masculine seething pool of masculinity and violence from all that Jaskier had managed to pull out of Geralt about his childhood. 

It didn't make it any easier on the dragon. 

Jaskier couldn’t help the way he recoiled at the raised voices, at the shards of rock flying through the air and the unbridled aggression in the air. He knew it was Geralt, knew that the man would never do anything to hurt him, but suddenly he wasn’t in the middle of nowhere with the man who had tried to keep him safe for over a decade. He was back in that fucking cage as Vilgefortz raged about a performance gone wrong or the decreasing quality of the  _ ingredients _ that the man harvested from him. 

  
Something moved closer to Jaskier, a large, imposing shape with a loud voice that rang in his ears, and he felt himself break. With a screech of complete fear, he jerked away, launching himself into the air and flying as fast as his cramped muscles would take him. 


	30. I hear them howling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier is alone.

It was dark, he was in a tree, and there were all sorts of sounds that Jaskier did not appreciate. 

He had no idea how he had got here, why he was here, or what had happened. The last thing he remembered, he had been talking with Geralt and then, poof. Nothing up until he was sitting in this tree, hearing something chittering menacingly around the base of the tree. 

It was a sound he was pretty sure he had heard on one of Geralt’s hunts, but he couldn’t quite place it. Fortunately for him, whatever was making the noise (and he had no inclination to peer through the branches and look at whatever awful thing it was) didn’t seem to know how to climb. It had tried smashing into the tree a few times, sending the whole thing rocking, but Jaskier was able to dig into the branches with his claws and ride it out. 

Where the hell were Geralt and Borch? He was pretty sure that he had been left with Geralt, so the poor witcher was probably being chewed out by the dragon when he discovered his adopted son missing. Borch would be beside himself. Fuck, Jaskier hated to do this to him so soon after he had gone missing for a much more sinister reason. He was never going to hear the end of this once they found him, not that he would begrudge them their frustration.

He did hope that they would come and find him soon. The noises below him seemed to be getting louder, as if they were gathering in number. The idea made him whimper quietly, which had the unfortunate consequence of making them all make excited noises and launch themselves at the tree as if they could knock him out of it. There was no way in hell he was moving; the gods only knew what else was out there in this forest that he was apparently in and he did not want to meet anything else. 

He drove his claws deeper into the bark to hold on and glared down the tree at whatever was making the noise. Fuck this, he was Jaskier, a fucking dragon. He was not going to cower in a tree like this. He spat some sparks down at them retroactively thanking his lucky stars that the tree he was in didn’t catch fire, and snarled. That made them all back away for a bit and he grinned to himself fiercely. 

If there was one thing he knew how to do, it was to cause a scene. Hopefully, if he was loud enough it would help Borch and Geralt to find him. With that in mind, he took a deep breath and started to sing. 

While he didn’t have the vocal cords to form words, he was able to produce a rather impressive strong tone. It was enough that he decided to ignore the assholes below him and focus on developing the song to go with some lyrics that had been swimming through his head for the last few days. 

The noise that he made was strangely beautiful, if rather eerie. He was able to reach a pitch that he was unsure if he could replicate as a human, and the notes seemed to hang in the air, dripping with longing and pain. It seemed to take on a life of its own, the song pouring out of Jaskier faster and faster as he swayed gently in the tree. He gave himself over to the song, forcing any worries about what was around him, how long it would take for the others to find him, or just how mad Borch would be when he found him from his head in favour of being buoyed along in the current of the song. 

He had no idea how long he sung for, or what happened during that time. There was nothing but Jaskier and the music, just like it used to be when he would become so enraptured in a performance that he would forget that there were people watching him, listening to him, and seeing a small fraction of the world as it made sense to Jaskier. The song looped back around on itself, ebbing and flowing like the waves at a shore that Jaskier so desperately wanted to see, pain and fear and longing and hope beating relentlessly against the notes before being borne off into the current once more. It was safe here, wrapped in his song. There was no other noise from the forest that could slip past it, nothing that wouldn’t be caught in the undertow of his melody and pulled back out away from him. 

When he did finally open his eyes, not that he remembered closing them, he saw Geralt wedged awkwardly between some tree branches, watching him with emotions swirling in those amber eyes. There was blood of some description spattered across his face and his armour, and to Jaksier he looked like a hero from one of the old ballads he had been taught in Oxenfurt, come to slay the mighty beast and reclaim his honour. His song started morphing into the tune of one of those ballads, one the Jaskier thought he had almost forgotten as the years rolled by, and say Geralt seem almost to brighten, looking more and more powerful and resolute as his eyes stayed fixed on Jaskier where he swayed in the branches. 

“Oh, gods. Jaskier, stop that right now,” came a voice from below as the entire tree shook. Jaskier let out a small whimper as the branch he was on swayed, digging his claws in and breaking the song. Geralt turned with a snarl to look below them before he seemed to collect himself, shaking his head and looking back at Jaskier where he perched in the tree. 

“Jaskier,” Geralt said, sounding a little bit dazed. “Are you stuck? Hurt?” 

Jaskier heard something shuffling down at the base of the tree and smelt the brimstone and fire that reminded him of home. “Julian! Get out of that tree and get down here. I leave you alone for one day and look what happens.” Borch kept muttering away to himself, the relief in his voice taking any sting out of his words. 

He blinked at Geralt owlishly before nodding down to the ground. The witcher seemed to take the hint and started climbing rather gracefully down the tree. Jaskier followed, jumping from branch to branch as he went and pausing every few seconds to scan the area around him. 

“Gods, Jaskier, what the hell happened?” Borch questioned. He plucked the dragon from the tree as soon as he was within reach, holding him close to his chest. Jaskier snuggled closer to him, the twilight gloom and the safety of his father’s embrace helping the last few remnants of his panic to subside and reason to take its place. He knew that he was probably too big for this, but he needed the lie for a moment, to feel as if the world could be made right by the embrace of another. He would face reality soon, something he had been avoiding for far too long, but today he would keep allowing himself to believe the lie that Borch could keep him safe just by being there. 

“I, I don’t know. I don’t really remember. I was with Geralt, and we were talking, and then next thing I know I’m in a fucking tree with demons below me. The fuck were they? Did they hurt you, Geralt? Is that why you have blood all over you?” Jaskier started panicking again, squirming in Borch’s arms to try and get to the witcher. Borch sighed and started kneading at a pressure point at the base of his skull that had him going boneless in the man’s grasp as endorphins flooded him. He couldn’t even bring himself to be mad at him, just glad that it stopped the rising tide of anxiety from washing him away. 

Geralt sighed and brushed absentmindedly at the blood on his face, smearing it rather than getting rid of it. “It’s nothing, Jaskier. There was a pack of wolves that looked to be rabid. Nothing major. How the fuck did you get up that tree?” 

Jaskier recoiled back at his tone, burying himself in Borch’s golden jacket and taking a deep inhale of his familiar scent. “I have no idea, Geralt, and if I did, do you not think that I would be telling you? I don’t particularly enjoy losing time like this, so fucking excuse me if I am a little unsettled.” 

The witcher made a small noise in the back of his throat, taking a step away from the two dragons. Borch tweaked Jaskier’s tail in reprimand and he took a breath, trying to force the panic from his mind and think logically. 

“Sorry, I know it probably worried you both when whatever happened happened. I just, I have no idea how I got here and I am praying to Melitele that this isn’t like what would happen when I was ... before, because that will be way too fucking much right now.” 

“Calm down, hatchling. We will get this all sorted out soon. For now, perhaps we should focus on getting back to our campsite. I did have to leave all of our packs there, so we should most likely hurry before someone has a very happy discovery.” 

Jaskier nodded slowly, letting Borch lower him to the ground and quickly moving close to his ankles. He spun around at a slight sound behind him, all puffed up like an angry cat with his wings slightly spread so that he could take off at a moment's notice. He winced when it was just Geralt shifting behind them as he readjusted his swords. The man raised an eyebrow at him and he quickly turned back around, trying to pretend it never happened. 

As Borch set out, he kept as close as possible to the man. He kept looking over his shoulder to check where Geralt was, flinching at every sound. 

“Julian. I understand that you are worried. But if you keep this up, I am going to trip over you or stand on your paw. Nothing will hurt you.” Borch reached down to pat his head reassuringly, a frown creasing his face when Jaskier skittered away from the sudden movement. Gods, he was so glad he couldn’t blush in his current state. 

“Sorry, sorry,” he muttered. Fuck. Now he was making Borch feel bad. He was such a fuckup. 

Geralt sighed and swept Jaskier up into his arms, ignoring the way the dragon wriggled in panic before it clicked as to who was grabbing him. The witcher was lucky that he didn’t lose a hand. 

“This will take forever. Let’s go. He isn’t much heavier than some of the monsters I have had to carry to villages as proof.” 

Wow. Geralt really had a way with words at times. Jaskier snarled at him playfully, indignant cutting through the panic. “How fucking kind of you, asshole. At least I don’t weigh as much as a fucking brick outhouse, like some ridiculously over muscled people that I could name,” he shot back. 

Geralt’s lips twitched in what for him was laughter and Jaskier finally caught on to the asshole’s plan. How dare he use Jaskier’s ridiculous pride to stop him from being so panicked. The bastard knew him far too well and he tried to remember what it was that had made him run from this man. What could have happened to make him so terrified that he fled from the man who probably knew him best in this world? 

“You keep this shit up, witcher, you better sleep with one eye open. I would hate for all that lovely long white hair to be burnt off in the night.” 

Geralt chuckled, the deep rumble seeming to surprise the man. “Like you would ever do that, Jaskier. You are the one who kept trying to weave fucking flowers and shit through it for some reason.” 

Jaskier grumbled to himself, trying to focus on this moment to keep the welling panic at bay. Maybe, maybe he could find a way to keep himself disappearing into whatever void it was that had taken those hours from him earlier. 

“What’s that, bard? No snarky comment for that? The great Jaskier, silenced by a mere witcher.” 

“You fucking wish. You asked for it,” Jaskier said, recognising what Geralt was trying to do and throwing himself wholeheartedly into it in an attempt to keep himself present and in the moment. “Let me tell you just how bad that hair is. The least you could do is wash it more often, Geralt. Monster guts are not a good conditioner, especially not if you want that hair to look white and not like you’ve been rubbing it in dog shit. And another thing...”


	31. The mutterings of all your fears

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They head back to their camp.

The trek back to their campsite took longer than Jaskier would have anticipated. Once they were free of the trees, Borch shifted back into his draconid form and proceeded to fly them back, the only sound Jaskier’s constant nervous babbling as he tried to figure out how he had gotten so far from them and how they hell he didn’t remember a single second of it. 

It was a terrifying thought, that he could black out and end up somewhere completely different, especially when he had no idea how well he would be unable to protect himself while in that state. What if he had run into some monster, or more kidnappers? Sweet Melitele, what if Vilgefortz had found him? No one would have known what had happened to him or where he was and he could have ended up right back in that cage being poked and prodded and slowly losing his mind. 

Talking helped him to stop thinking, even if it did mean listing all of the things that he missed from being human shaped and able to go into cities like Oxenfurt. He was sure that Borch and Geralt were ignoring him apart from the occasional hum to encourage him to keep talking. It didn’t matter, the endless chatter was the only thing keeping him from hyperventilating himself into unconsciousness with his panic. The longer he could delay having to think about it all, the better in his eyes. 

Of course, that didn't last long once they landed. It was only a matter of moments for Geralt to check that everything was where he had left it and Borch to change back to his human shape and sit by the sticks Geralt had arranged for a fire, quickly lighting them with a breath before beckoning Jaskier over to him. 

“Alright, Julian. Let’s talk this through and see if we can find a solution. I don’t particularly want to leave you behind with Geralt when he has shown that he cannot keep you safe and in the place I left you,” he said, ignoring the way the witcher’s shoulders hunched in around himself at his words. 

Jaskier sighed, moving to sit in front of the man where he could still keep an eye on Geralt as he pretended to be absorbed in whatever was in the pack he was fiddling with. “That’s the problem, Borch. I have no idea how I ended up in that tree. One moment I was talking with Geralt about ... things. The next, I’m in a fucking tree with those, wolves did you say? Of fucking course it was wolves. Besides the point, what I am trying to say is that I ended up in the gods damned tree and I have no clue why. I thought I was past this shit, thought I wasn’t going to lose time like this anymore, but apparently not. This is why I didn’t want to do this, to go anywhere near  _ him _ . I just want it all to stop, Borch, I just want to pretend it never fucking happened.” 

He was beside himself by the time he finished talking, sobbing really but neither of the men were rude enough to point it out. They gave him a moment to slow his breathing down, to choke back the panic that wanted to drown him. 

“Jaskier, we couldn’t leave him out there where he could hurt other people. As a witcher, I can’t leave a monster out there that will hurt the innocent, and from what we have heard about this Vilgefortz, he is certainly a monster.” Geralt didn’t move from where he was as he spoke, but those amber eyes glinting in the fading light were strangely comforting to Jaskier. The man looked like he was ready to kill Vilgefortz then and there. Gods, Jaskier wanted this man nowhere near that monstrosity. 

“I don’t particularly want to hear from you about protecting people, witcher. I left my son in your care and look what happened,” Borch said coldly. He was still refusing to look at the witcher, his anger almost palpable in the air. 

“It wasn’t his fault,” Jaskier protested. “I just, I blacked out or something. If I was reacting like I did back at Kaer Morhen, there was no way that Geralt would be able to stop me. Gods, I didn’t hurt you, did I?” 

He turned panicked eyes on the witcher, scenting the air to see if there was any of Geralt’s blood beneath that of the wolves that was still splattered all over him. Geralt shook his head reassuringly, even as he radiated guilt. 

“No, Jaskier, it was my fault. We were talking and I, I got mad. I scared you, that’s why you ran.” 

Oh shit. This was the perfect time for Jaskier’s fucking insecurities to rear their ugly head. The one person who would take it personally, would refuse to consider that maybe Jaskier was just scared of everything and this had just been a step too far. Of course, Geralt could have been a bit more considerate about not terrifying the man, but then Geralt was barely able to consider his own emotions, let alone those of a traumatised dragon. He loved the man, he really truly did, even when he knew it was stupid, but he knew that Geralt had a lot to learn before he would ever be able to be part of a healthy relationship. 

“Sorry, shit, sorry. I probably overreacted or something. I just, I get so fucking jumpy. I don’t want to be out here, looking for ways to keep him captive. It’s fine, Geralt, really. I need to learn to be able to handle a little bit of aggression. It isn’t like you would ever hurt me.” 

The witcher looked shocked by his trust at him before his eyes softened. “Trust you to be more afraid of some shitstain of a mage who is living on borrowed time than the man who just triggered what Triss said was some kind of panic attack. You have the most fucked up survival instinct, Jaskier.” 

“Ha,” the dragon snorted. “This is coming from the man who thinks that being swallowed by a fucking Selkie Maw and cutting his way out is a sensible plan. Those in glass houses, my dear witcher.” 

The man grunted at him, turning away as if to hide his smile. Borch made an aggravated noise, looking at the stupid lovestruck gleam in his son’s eyes and shaking his head. “You will be going into the next town to collect the dimeritium, witcher, while I will be talking some sense into my idiot hatchling. Someone here has to make sure that he is safe while we prepare for this, and clearly you two cannot be trusted by yourself. Just what were you talking about to get you so worked up, Julian?” 

Jaskier quickly started studying his claws, hating the sudden racing of his heart in his chest which he knew both men would be able to hear. “Nothing for you to worry about, Father dearest, nothing at all. Um, I’m just going to get an early night. Yes, I am going to sleep and pretending that today never happened. The sooner we are back in Kaer Morhen, the fucking better.” 

* * *

The next few days were horrifically awkward. Borch refused to leave Geralt alone with Jaskier, despite having contrived so many scenarios to leave them together in the first place, and kept sending the witcher into the various villages to buy up all of their dimeritium. It meant that they ended up paying much more than they would have otherwise, the people of Kovir not as keen to sell to a witcher as they were to a kindly looking older man. 

Borch wasn’t too bothered. Apparently the man had amassed ridiculous amounts of gold in his lifetime and was more than willing to spend as much as was needed to bring the mage to his idea of justice. The more time they spent away from the thin veneer of civility that Kaer Morhen offered, the more Jaskier could see the fury slowly boiling beneath the surface of Borch’s sweet older nobleman act. It kept him unsettled, torn between stunned appreciation that someone cared enough about him to be so mad on his behalf, and that stupid lingering fear that any form of anger would send him back into that cage with its pain and misery. He knew that the fear was irrational, that neither Geralt nor Borch would ever try to hurt him in that way, but he couldn’t stop himself. 

Geralt was back to avoiding him again, only this time he kept throwing looks at Jaskier like he was terrified that he would break him. It was rather reassuring that the man had at least taken it on board, that his actions had consequences and that he could hurt Jaskier with his words, but the idiot was now treating him like he was made of glass and that was beyond ridiculous. He just needed a few hours to trap the man in a room and finish that conversation they had been having in a safe environment, but there was no way in hell that was happening with Borch hovering over him like a fucking mother hen. If he didn’t love the man so much, he would have bitten a chunk out of his leg with his frustrations (that was a lie, he had tried to do that to Borch but apparently his teeth were not yet sharp enough to do more than tickle the older dragon, who had done him the indignity of laughing at his attempts and promising to teach him how to hunt better later.) 

Thankfully, within a few days they had amassed enough dimeritium to please both the witcher and the dragon. The journey home was just as awful, but now it was starting to dawn on Jaskier that the next step would be Vilgeofortz being brought to the keep. Just the thought of being anywhere near the mage had him wanting to throw up, so he had no idea how he was going to survive this. For the love of the gods, he had just been able to convince himself he was safe in the fucking place, now they would be bringing the source of his nightmares there. 

It was a horrific feeling. He wanted to be back in the keep, with his sister and Ciri and the women who had saved him, as well as all of those witchers, but it was also becoming the scene of horrific nightmares that had him waking the others each night with his screams. He felt so torn and he hated it. One fucking day, this fear wouldn’t rule his every waking moment, but until then, he needed to find a way to stop himself from feeling as if his heart was about to come flying out of his chest at every small sound. 

Gods, he didn't want to go home to Saskia like this. The closer they got to Kaer Morhen, the worse he became. He had stopped talking a day into their journey back, the terror blocking up his throat as if he was choking on a bone. He knew that technically he did not need his vocal cords to be able to talk, but he couldn’t help the instinctive need to be as silent as possible, as if any noise could bring Vilgefortz nearer to him with his gods damned potions and knives and other horrific implements which Jaskier didn’t want to know the names of. He didn’t want his darling sister, who was so bright and joyful and excited by everything in life, to see just how much of a coward her brother was. They hadn’t even found the fucking mage yet and he was a mess. 

He was starting to worry Geralt and Borch too. While Borch was doing his best to keep Geralt and Jaskier from being alone together, still not fully comfortable with the witcher after Jaskier had disappeared, there were still long hours when it was just the young dragon and the witcher strapped to Borch’s back as he flew. Geralt had taken to making sure that Jaskier was secured to his father’s back as effectively as possible and then spent each flight scanning the air around them with a hand reassuringly on Jaskier’s shoulder, as if he was prepared to grab the dragon and pull him into a protective embrace at the first sign of danger. Not that Jaskier knew what he thought would attack them; Borch being the size of a small castle was a pretty big deterrent to any monster that may have wanted to attack them. 

But hopefully, once they arrived back at the keep, Jaskier would be able to find somewhere nice and quiet where he could hide and have his breakdown in peace. He just wanted some gods damned space so that he could process things and try and get rid of the constant fucking fear. He needed time to try and find ways to push it all down, but he could also see why the others wanted to get this over with as soon as possible. He would be devastated if he heard that others had been hurt because he was too scared to allow his family to do what they did best, protect those who needed protecting, but this constant rising tide of fear was something he was scared would bear him away and dash him against the rocks of his own mind. 


	32. You come home all tired

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier returns to Kaer Morhen.

It was far too quiet when they arrived back at Kaer Morhen. Part of that may have been due to the fact that they arrived in the dead of the night; Borch wanted to get back as soon as possible in the hopes that the familiar would help to draw Jaskier out of the funk he had sunk into. It did mean that they were only greeted by Véa as she came out to help them unload their things. The others were inside with the children, making sure that they were not disturbed after Véa said the pair of them had been running drills all day to keep them out of mischief. 

Jaskier couldn’t even muster up the energy to feel bad about how useless he was being. Once Geralt moved him from Borch’s back to a spot of the ground where he was out of the way, he just curled his tail around him and watched them as they worked. He hated the way he felt like a passenger in his own body. It was as if the cage he had been stuffed into for so long was now part of his mind, leaving him curled up behind the bars in a dark corner watching the world as it went by without him. He knew that he was responding to any questions they asked him, that he was moving to get out of the way when asked and at some point followed them all into the main hall of the keep, but none of it seemed to be him. It was a terrifying feeling, but not one that he knew how to stop. 

He could see Geralt watching him with more and more concern, as well as Borch continuously checking in on him as he pulled the large amounts of dimeritium into the keep and talked with Véa about the plan to capture Vilgefortz. It didn’t sound like much progress was being made in that regard, the mages not checking in with those left in the keep as often as they would like. They had been able to reinforce quite a few cells, although Lambert had apparently been complaining that they had made them far too comfortable for the asshole. 

Any reminder of the fact that Vilgefortz would soon be inhabiting the same building as him had Jaskier retreating further and further into his own mind, until he lost all awareness of the world around him and allowed himself to float in a gentle haze. He knew that it was probably not the best choice that he could have made. The others would be panicking at his regression and trying to find a way to bring him back, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Really, they had wanted to do this, despite his warnings, so what had they expected. No, he shouldn’t let himself think like that. He would just end up getting resentful if he allowed his mind to go down those pathways, and he did not need to alienate himself from the people who cared about him any more than he already had. 

What finally pulled him out of the fog of his own fear was the feeling of arms wrapped around him, little claws digging into one of his legs, and two soft voices sighing as they moved closer to him in their sleep. He blinked dazedly, looking around him to see a mess of ashy hair and golden scales. When he pulled his head out of the mess of limbs, he saw Geralt sitting on the side of the bed smoothing Ciri’s hair back from his forehead. If his ears didn’t deceive him, it sounded like the man was humming under his breath too, the stupid ballad he had written about the wedding of Pavetta and Duny sounding odd with his deep, growling tones. 

The witcher clearly hadn’t noticed that he was back in the land of the living, too focused on his pup where she cuddled deeper into his touch and pulled Jaskier and Saskia with her as if they were toys that she had been given to sleep with. He couldn’t bring himself to protest, the warm sleepy embrace helping him to push the lingering panic back into the corners of his mind. He sighed and allowed himself to sink into sleep, Geralt’s voice and the gentle breathing of the two girls bearing him away on a tide of comforting normalcy. 

* * *

“You’re back!” Saskia yelled in his ear far too early in the morning to be that loud. Jaskier made a bleary noise and tried to pry open his eyes only to see her snout right in his face. 

“Saskia,” he slurred, “how early is it?”

“It doesn’t matter. When did you get back? Did you get all the stupid metal stuff you wanted? Do you have to leave again? Are you back forever? Is the bad man coming soon? Is Father going to eat him? Am I allowed to eat him? We could eat him together and then he would never hurt you again.” 

Ciri sat up from where they had both been lying cuddled up to her side and pushed Saskia gently away so that Jaskier could push himself to his feet and yawn widely. “Calm down, Saskia, and give him a minute to wake up. Geralt says if you wake someone up like that in the morning, then you have to go and practice on the Pendulum for an extra hour after you apologise to them. That’s why I save all my questions for after breakfast.” 

Jaskier couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped him at that, even though he felt a little like he had been run over by several wagons one after the other. It must have been the panic, draining all the strength from his body and leaving him so exhausted. Ugh, he hated it. 

“Ugh, fine. Even if your silly Pendulum thing doesn’t really work when you can just fly around it. Really, Ciri, you just need to learn how to fly and then all your training would be so much easier. Jaskier, come down to breakfast so I can ask you lots of questions. Oh, and Father too. I have lots of questions for him. And I need to show you just how fast I can fly now! Me and Ciri have been racing.” 

“Ciri and I, Saskia, it should be Ciri and I,” Jaskier said, staggering to his feet and looking at the door. It was far too far away, and the idea of walking all the way down to the hall for breakfast was much more daunting than it should have been.

Ciri must have seen the way he was staring at the door in frustration, because once she had pulled herself out of bed and pushed Saskia towards the door, she picked Jaskier up with a grunt and started carrying him down to the hall. 

“You are so much heavier than Saskia, Jaskier,” she wheezed as she carried him. “Thank the gods I have been doing this witcher training. I doubt I could have carried you before I came to Kaer Morhen.” 

Jaskier huffed out a laugh. “I am much larger than her, Ciri, and much older. And I am sure you had much more important things to be doing before you came here than preparing to carry dragons.” The girl laughed, grinning at him while Saskia darted around her ankles and they slowly made their way down to the hall. 

He felt a little bad that Ciri was putting so much effort into getting him there, but it also made his chest feel warm. The idea that someone cared enough to make sure that he was attending meals and getting out of bed in the morning was a reassuring one, especially after he had spent so long locked in a cage and ignored. Gods, it was sad how much such a small gesture made him happy. He would have to think of something nice to do for the girl later to show how much he appreciated her. Maybe he could come up with some kind of song for her, something about the White Wolf’s cub and her daring deeds or some other kind of adventure song. 

Yennefer would be the perfect person to pump for information, the woman seemed to see herself as the girl’s stand in mother figure and that was something he had never expected to see from her. He knew that she had wanted a child before, not that she had ever been discreet in her desires, but seeing her with Ciri was like seeing a whole different woman. When she returned (he refused to think about who could be with her when she did) he would have to pull her aside and see what juicy stories she knew so that he could begin composing. 

The witchers were all in the hall when they made their way down, eating what looked like some kind of porridge. Téa, Véa, and Borch were there as well, talking in hushed tones with Vesemir while the four other witchers seemed to be trying to either yell each other to death or steal food from the other’s bowls while also guarding their own. It was a bizarre situation to walk into, but Ciri seemed to take it as normal. 

She dumped Jaskier rather indelicately onto the closest bench, leaving him sitting next to Geralt awkwardly, before swinging herself to sit next to him and turning excitedly to look at the witcher over Jaskier’s head. “Did you see me carry Jaskier all the way from my room? I’m getting much stronger now, can I use the heavier sword at training?” 

Geralt hummed at her, patting at her silver hair and as he pushed a bowl of food in front of her. He could feel the witcher watching him out of the corner of his eye but was too focused on staying upright to respond. 

“If you think you can keep up, I’ll take you for a session today,” Lambert said in between shoveling food into his mouth. “Coën and I were going to spar later anyway, while Eskel finishes up with the dungeons, so we can easily turn it into a game of whack the princess.” 

That had Ciri leaning across the table in excitement, talking smack with Lambert and giggling as their threats to each other got more and more ridiculous. Saskia joined in pretty quickly, convincing the witchers that it would make their training even more exciting to deal with aerial attacks as well. The four of them continued to yell at each other, stealing food from each other as they went, but Jaskier looked up to find another pair of eyes on him that he hadn’t expected. 

Across the table, Eskel was watching him quietly. Jaskier took a moment to really look at the man, studying his face since he was being watched so openly. He really did look a lot like Geralt. He had remembered Lambert saying they were like brothers, but having them in the same room did highlight just how similar they were. It was like Eskel was all dark hair where Geralt was white, the scars on his face only creating a counterpoint to all of those that Jaskier knew littered the other’s body. Where Geralt’s silence seemed to be borne of his idea that everyone was already labelling him a monster, Eskel’s seemed much more watchful, as if he was taking the time to form all of his opinions before speaking. 

“Jaskier can help me,” Eskel said softly, those amber eyes trained on the dragon. Jaskier could only blink in surprise at the words, lethargy preventing him from even expressing his shock and fuck that was not a good sign. 

Geralt immediately started protesting, saying that they couldn’t expect Jaskier to go near the dungeons and that he needed some time to rest and recover from the trip, but Borch interrupted him. 

“Hm, yes. I think Julian would benefit from helping you out today, Eskel. Make sure that you pull your weight, Julian. You have had far too much time in that head of yours recently, some hard work should be good for you.” 

And apparently that was the matter closed, even if Jaskier had the energy to try and change it. Eskel was smirking at Geralt where he continued to complain, trying to get Vesemir to side with him, but it seemed the two older men were in agreement. Jaskier would be facing the dungeons where they planned to trap Vilgefortz, and he had no idea how he was going to handle that. 


	33. In the upside down frown of the dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier ventures into the dungeon.

The dungeons were just like every other set of dungeons Jaskier had been in, and that fact made him want to curl up into a ball and hide. It was dark, with the torches on the wall only adding to the awful atmosphere with the way the light flickered and danced across the dank walls. There was a smell that Jaskier had never encountered outside of a dungeon, something damp and hidden and hopeless, like this was somewhere that hope and happiness would never be able to find a foothold. It all resulted in a very anxious dragon who was still having a hard time mustering up the energy to do anything. 

The only reason he was able to follow Eskel down the stairs into the dungeon was the image of Borch’s disappointed face if he did not manage to help Eskel out today and let his stupid fear take hold of him. He wouldn’t allow that to happen, not after all that Borch had done for him, so he kept forcing his legs to move behind the witcher. Thankfully, Eskel wasn’t talking to him, just letting him follow along behind him like a little duckling as he led the way past the first cells. 

These rooms looked like they had been used for storage, full of various weapons that the witchers must have picked up over the years, broken furniture, and assorted rubbish that Jaskier could never imagine a witcher, with their need for practicality beaten into them from all he had heard, going out and buying. It was more likely that this was the place where the things they were given as rewards and had no use for went to slowly rot away. 

Jaskier nearly ran into the back of Eskel’s legs when the man stopped and turned to look at the last cell down the hallway. The room looked like it had recently been reinforced, and the metallic scent of dimeritium was heavy in the air. It had Jaskier forcing back memories of his cage, digging a claw into the opposite leg to keep himself present. 

“This is the one. I thought, given the way you seem a bit ... upset since you got back, that you might appreciate seeing just how much preparation is going into keeping you safe. I know that some of the others think that you should be kept far away from it all so you don’t have to think about it, but I know, if it were me, I would want to know exactly what is happening. Your imagination can be your own worst enemy sometimes, and then before you know it, you’ve made yourself so terrified of something that it becomes much worse than it would have originally been.” He lifted a hand to rub at the scars on his face, his eyes going distant as he spoke. 

Shit. This was something that Jaskier hadn’t even considered, but it sounded like a bloody good idea. If he had no idea what was standing between him and Vilgefortz, he would lose his mind with worry that the man would break free at any opportunity. He would never be able to rest easy in the keep, and he hated to think of how much that would break Saskia and Borch’s hearts to see him so afraid all of the time. 

He made as much of a noise of agreement as he could right now, looking appreciatively up at Eskel when the man smiled gently down at him. The man was a gentle giant, Jaskier decided. He seemed to have a soft spot a mile wide, especially in comparison to his brothers who liked to pretend that their only emotions were anger.

“Alright, so from the way your nose is wrinkling, I am guessing that you can smell the dimeritium. Vesemir managed to find a bit down here, so I melted it down and laced some string through it. I wove that into a net, then resealed the walls around it all. Unless the man decides to dig through the walls with his fingernails, which I would love to see some prissy mage try that, then as soon as this door closes, he is in a complete dimeritium net that should keep him about as magical as a nail.” 

A little snort of laughter surprised Jaskier as he followed the man into the room, slowly pacing around the room to see all of Eskel’s hard work. The new walls, floor, and ceiling were barely noticeable. Maybe this was one of the few scenarios where the keep being in such disrepair would be beneficial, it would have made Eskel’s work easier when he was just patching up the walls and then smoothing them over like he would have had to at some point anyway. And now they had a mage proof room, something that he was sure they would have to use again at some point given how prone to pissing off the rich and powerful Geralt was. 

“So, today’s job is to take the rest of the dimeritium that you all brought out to the smelter I have and we can start fashioning some restraints. I just thought you would want to see how this room is first, before you help me decide just how kind to be with the rest of it.” Eskel picked Jaskier up as he was talking, swinging him up to perch on his shoulder like a very overgrown parrot as he stopped by one of the cells near the entrance to the dungeons to grab the bag of dimeritium and continue out to the back of the keep. 

Jaskier hadn’t had much opportunity to see this side of the keep, and he hadn’t expected to see what looked like a fully operational blacksmiths. He didn’t know why it was so surprising. Of course the witchers would need some way to maintain and improve their gear during the winter, so it would make sense for them to be able to do it themselves, especially when silver swords were not a particularly common choice across the Continent. 

Eskel placed Jaskier in front of the forge while he started gathering the equipment he needed. While he was getting himself sorted, Jaskier thought he would be useful and lit the forge. The pleased expression on Eskel’s face when he turned back around and thanked him helped to dispel the fog a little, so Jaskier moved a bit closer and peered at the flames. 

“How hot do you need it to shape the dimeritium?” he asked, flicking his tail into the flames to gauge how warm it was. 

“Much warmer than this. Do I need to get the bellows ready, or do you think you can get this hotter? I’ll put the metal here,” he held a rod of dimeritium out over the flames where they licked upwards, “and if you keep heating it, I’ll let you know when it’s looking good.” 

Jaskier grinned at him before blowing more fire into the forge, focusing on making it as hot as possible. He could hear Eskel humming under his breath as he turned the metal, using a pair of tongs to manipulate it as it began to soften and he nodded at the dragon to keep the temperature steady. 

Jaskier watched him for a moment before grabbing his own piece of metal and moving to sit on the edge of the forge. From here, he could dip his tail into the flames to monitor the temperature, snake his neck into it to reheat it if it started cooling, and also start manipulating the metal between his claws as he held it over the fire. Once Eskel noticed the way he was imitating him, he started making his motions a lot more obvious and the pair worked on fashioning a pair of shackles. 

The song Eskel was humming was a familiar one, some folk song that he was sure he had heard in his studies. He thought it might have been one of the old folksongs they had looked at one semester, with a professor who had devoted their life to trying to create a songbook of working songs from across the Continent. It made him think of long days in the sun, working hand in hand with the people around him and enjoying the sensation of being part of a team. 

“De ole hen she cackled, she cackled on de fence... de ole hen she cackled, and she ain't cackled sence,” Jaskier sang quietly, trying to remember the rest of the lyrics. Eskel flinched at his words, pausing in his motions before his deep baritone joined with Jaskier’s higher voice. It seemed that the older witcher didn’t remember the rest of the song either, so they just repeated the lyrics, Jaskier letting a crooning sound slip out of his throat to provide a counterpoint to their voices as they sang, and wasn’t it bizarre that he could somehow sing two different tunes at once. 

They worked together for a few hours, until they had shackles and chains to link them and Eskel was shining with sweat while Jaskier drooped with exhaustion. It was a good exhaustion, though, much less like he was moving through a thick fog and much more of a satisfying ache in all of his muscles. He followed the witcher back to the keep wearily, chatting quietly with him about the various things that Eskel had learnt to smith over the years, the most surprising being some of Lambert’s brewing equipment. 

They were interrupted by a piercing noise coming from Eskel’s pocket. He swore, dropping the bag of shackles and quickly pulling what Jaskier was fairly certain was a xenovox from his pocket and tapping at it until it stopped making the awful noise. 

“Eskel, you certainly took your time to answer,” came Yennefer’s snippy tones. “I almost called Vesemir, but the man starts lecturing me each time about making sure that I don’t create a scene or some rubbish. If I wanted to be told what to do, I would be back at Aretuza, not staying in his stupid castle in the mountains.” 

Eskel sighed, moving to sit by the bag as if preparing for a long conversation. “Yennefer, I thought you had gone to Aretuza? Weren’t you meant to talk to Tissaia some more once she got back from wherever she had gone?” 

The mage snarled, leaving Jaskier glad that she could not hear his laughter as he projected it to Eskel. “Of course that uptight witch only leaves her beloved fucking school when I want to talk to her. She’s back, and wasn’t that a fun reunion. She’s agreed to help us with Vilgefortz, was rather appalled at the idea of what he had done to Jaskier, so I suggest you get Vesemir to clear out another room in the tower Triss and I stay in. I doubt the Rectoress of Aretuza will be pleased with all of your witcher paraphernalia scattered about her room. On second thought, leave it all there. I do love to watch that little tic by her eye when she’s pissed.” 

“Is there a point to this, Yennefer, or are you just calling because I’m the only one who will listen to your venting?” Eskel said, sounding rather long suffering. Jaskier was no help, thoroughly enjoying hearing Yennefer’s sass, especially when it wasn’t directed at him.

The sneer in her voice was evident even over the xenovox. “Well, I just thought that my dulcet tones would brighten your day, dear Eskel. Have you got the dimeritium ready? Tissaia has made contact with him and is in the process of setting up a meeting. Triss can portal back to Kaer Morhen, collect them, and then we should be able to bring him back within a few days, providing Jaskier and Geralt didn’t kill each other with their stupidity instead of getting the fucking metal.” 

Jaskier scowled at that, refusing to acknowledge the way that Eskel laughed and nudged him where he sat beside the witcher. “I have our little dragon friend here, and he’s just helped me to finish forging the shackles. Triss can come and pick them up whenever she’s ready. From the sounds of it though, Geralt put his fat foot in it again. You really need to sort that man out, Yen, you’re the only one who seems to be able to get through his thick head at the moment and convince him to pull it out of his ass.” 

Jaskier did not flinch at that, holding himself rigid for a moment to try and let it pass through him without ripping a giant hole through his heart. He could see Eskel looking at him in confusion, not understanding why this was hurting the dragon so much, and shook his head. He quickly nudged his head against Eskel’s thigh reassuringly before launching himself into the air, forcing his sore muscles to cooperate as he headed for the battlements on a tower that he knew had broken stairs. He needed some space for a moment, and at least here it was less likely for a witcher to come looking for him. 


	34. Drink will fix all those questions unasked

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier's alone time is interrupted.

It was quiet up on the battlements. Here, he could look out over the valley, see the lake and the forests, the horrific mountain passes that made the place all but inaccessible, and be alone with his thoughts. It did raise questions as to how the hell people were ever able to sack the place, but that was something he would ask Eskel later, the man seemed the least distressed over it all so he would probably give the best answer. 

Fuck, Eskel. He knew the man hadn’t meant to hurt him with that comment, but his stupid heart wasn’t willing to listen to reason. He knew that Geralt would never care for him the way he did for the witcher, that he was wrapped up in some ridiculously romantic twist of fate with Yennefer. Hell, he had seen them both with Ciri and the three of them made a disgustingly adorable family, smoothing out each other’s rougher edges and giving each other an excuse to show some of their softer side that the rest of the world had battered and bruised. He should be happy for them, he knew that. 

Their relationship was the stuff of legend, something he could spin hundreds of ballads about to have people getting misty eyed over. Tales of the White Wolf tamed by a sorceress, something about lilacs and gooseberries to capture her usual scent that she wore and then some more terrifying imagery, a storm or something, to make sure they all knew exactly how much of a force of nature she was. He could almost hear the melody, and that made his heart hurt even more. Maybe, if there was a future for him after this whole mess, if the witchers and mages and his family managed to do what they thought they could, then he would spend the rest of his life singing this song, telling the world about the love that he so desperately wanted but was destined to never have. 

Gods, he didn’t even know who he was more jealous of. He had loved Geralt for years, he was man enough to admit that, but he also recognised that the witcher was lucky beyond belief to have the love of the mage. Yennefer was beautiful, powerful, and delightfully witty, someone who would face the perils of the world by your side and help you to not take yourself too seriously at the same time. Geralt was so gods damned lucky, and yet he still kept shoving his foot in it with the mage. If Jaskier managed to gain the love of a woman like that, he would be showering her in praise every second of the day and making sure that she knew just how much he loved her. Then again, he had tried that with Geralt, seen that the man was not really much for words and so tried to show his love with every action, and that had gotten him precisely nowhere, so maybe he was not the expert on love that he liked to think himself. 

Maybe Jaskier should stick to flitting around like the social butterfly everyone seemed to think he was. He knew the reputation he had, knew that Geralt thought he was forever jumping in and out of bed with people, but what else was he to do? He had a very public job that required people to think well of him, and besides, there was nowhere else in his life he was getting that kind of attention. People were all too ready to chase a bard out of town as soon as he had stopped singing or throw things at him when they didn’t like his song choice. It was nice to have at least a few minutes where someone was focused on him and saying nice things about him, and the gods only knew that sometimes he needed the boost to his ego. If it helped him when it came to getting his next singing job, the tales of the Jaskier the famous bard with his romantic songs and his other charms appealing to a large amount of noble women who from all accounts were supremely unfulfilled by husbands constantly busy with work, then who was he to protest. 

He had tried to calm it down for a while out of some stupid idea that he would show Geralt just how loyal he was. Jaskier had spent months turning down various propositions, all to watch the witcher wander into the next brothel that would allow him in and return several hours later with a stupidly satisfied smirk on his face to tell the bard that he should go and relax as well. That was when Jaskier had known that his love was hopeless and had slunk away under the pretense of following the man’s advice to lick his wounds in private. And now, he had everyone in the keep throwing reminders of Geralt and Yennefer’s epic romance in his face while he was all alone, and in the wrong form to even try and take care of things himself. How fantastic for him. 

  
  


He was too busy musing on his rather depressing romantic life to notice someone approaching, almost launching himself off of the battlements in shock when Lambert hauled himself over the broken edge of the tower with a grin, sprawling beside him as he panted for breath. 

“Shit, I haven’t climbed this one in a while. Some of the handholds I used to use as a kid don’t take my weight anymore. Then again, I was a ridiculously runty little kid, so the stones probably barely noticed my weight.” 

He huffed for a few more seconds before pulling a bottle from the bag he had tied tight to his back. “Fancy a drink? The old man has been on my ass all morning about some shit, so I thought I would come and find the best drinking partner in this place.” He took a swig from the bottle, the heavy fumes making Jaskier’s eyes water, before offering it to the dragon. 

“Oh, fuck. You don’t really have the dexterity for this, do you. Never mind, open up and let’s see how much you can drink.” 

Jaskier knew this was probably not the best way to deal with his problems right now, but fuck it. He wanted a few hours where he didn’t have to think, didn’t have to worry about Vilgefortz, or Geralt, or any other shit. And besides, Lambert would keep him safe. He knew that the witcher would never let him get hurt. 

He opened his mouth and let Lambert pour a rather hearty portion down his throat, wincing at the burn. “Another one of your fine products, master witcher,” he wheezed after he had swallowed it all down. “You certainly know how to make a strong brew.” 

Lambert laughed, taking another drink. “I’ve been working on this one for a while. Thought it might be good, something to take my mind off of what a shithole this place is.” 

He looked around them, scowling at the keep. 

“I’m sure Geralt made this sound like some safe haven in a world gone mad, but it’s a fucking graveyard. See that section round the side there, that’s where Vesemir decided we would put all the bodies of those who fell in the attack. Said there wasn’t time to give them the full honours, that we had to focus on getting the place back up and running. Well, it’s been over a hundred years since then, and this place is still falling apart. There’s still the bodies of witchers, good men, my friends, littered all over this mountainside like so much trash. But Vesemir thinks that we can all just stay on here, patching up the roof so it doesn’t fall down on us and pretending that none of it ever happened. That none of us were ever ripped away from our homes and forced to become witchers, that none of us ever dreamed of a different life.” 

He lapsed into silence, drinking heavily and then giving more to Jaskier. He was pretty sure that the rumours were right, that witcher’s couldn’t cry, because the amount of grief in Lambert’s voice would have anyone else in a flood of tears. 

“They deserve better. You deserve better. Maybe Vesemir thinks this is the best way to honour their loss, but no one deserves to be left out in the cold like that. Tomorrow, you and I can make a pyre. It looks like there’s space down by the lake, we can fell a few trees, gather your fallen brothers, and put them to rest. That way, there will be a few less ghosts in this place and you can start to reclaim it,” Jaskier suggested softly. It was so much easier to help someone else solve their problem than to think about his own. 

“If Vesemir wants this keep to stand, he needs to put a hell of a lot more work into it. From what I have heard, the time of training young boys to be witchers is gone. This place should be a home for the witchers that are left, not some shrine to days gone by. Once Yennefer gets back, I’m sure I can get her to help and we can get this place looking like a home rather than a grave.” 

Lambert looked at him in shock, blinking at him before looking down at the bottle in his hand. “Fuck. Yeah. Fuck. That, that sounds like something we should do. Fuck. How did it take a tiny little dragon to get me to do what I should have done a long time ago?” 

Jaskier scoffed, tapping the bottle with his tail until Lambert gave him another drink. “This tiny little dragon is going to be bigger than you someday soon. And besides, I am a bard as well. Being able to read people and figure out what will make them happy is kind of in the job description. There weren’t formal classes on it in Oxenfurt, but it sure as hell helped to keep your grades up if you could keep the professors happy and find ways to get people to let you play in their inns and get the word around.” 

“If you’re so smart then, why can’t you sort this shit out with Geralt? I know my brother is an idiot, he would have to be to willingly let his dick get anywhere near those crazy witches, but surely you can read his big stupid face like a book.” 

And that was the crux of the matter. “Yes, I can read him like a book, but that’s part of the issue. I can tell that he doesn’t want to be anywhere near me at the moment, that he feels like he is walking on eggshells everytime I’m in the room. I can see how much he cares for the rest of you, for all of the witchers, Ciri, and .... and Yennefer too, but then he looks at me and his face just goes blank. I can read him just like the book you say he is, Lambert, but that doesn’t mean I can change what’s on the page. Even I can’t do that.” 

Fuck. This was why he had come up here where no one could find him. Fucking witchers and their stupid mutations letting them climb where no human would. 

“Jaskier,” Lambert said, his voice sounding oddly strangled. “You, you can’t be that stupid. You. Ah shit. This is why I don’t do the emotion shit. That’s Eskel’s job. He’s the one who makes you feel like not everything in life is a big ball of crap. That’s what he was doing earlier, wasn’t he? He does that thing where he’s just quiet and ... Eskel, and then suddenly you don’t feel like taking a jump off the nearest cliff.” 

Jaskier hummed in agreement. The other witcher was rather soothing, more than Jaskier had expected from a man that looked like he was ready to rip a man in half with his bare hands. Eskel just had a very gentle presence that had a way of calming people, something he was sure someone who seemed to channel all of his feelings into anger like Lambert must appreciate. 

“Look, Jaskier. Let’s finish the bottle and then get down from this roof. The sun should be setting soon, and it looks fucking fantastic from up here. Tomorrow, we can put my brothers to rest and start planning what we do next, but I promise you, I have your back, no matter what stupid shit my idiot brother might say.” 

He smiled awkwardly at Jaskier and he couldn’t help wrapping his tail around the man’s wrist in thanks. He shuffled to sit closer to Lambert, quietly smug that sitting down, he didn’t have to stretch his neck too far to be eye level with the witcher. 

“Fine. Let’s drink and watch the sunset. I promise I won’t go telling the others that you are a secret romantic, looking at beautiful sunsets and giving great life advice. It will be our little secret.” He bared his teeth in a grin, laughing when the witcher swore and launched himself at him playfully, somehow managing to put the bottle somewhere it wouldn’t be damaged as the pair of them tussled across the rooftop as the sun slowly sank towards the horizon. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MythJoyRide was lovely enough to make a gif of this that you can find here. You can also see more of her stuff at @camillesart on Twitter. Thank you so incredibly much, I love this!  
> https://photosynthesisedduck.tumblr.com/post/640950287670165504/hey-edmundbunnycorcoran-my-friend-doesnt-have#notes


	35. Forget me not

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier and Lambert prepare to put the fallen witchers to rest.

To say that Borch had been unimpressed at having to rescue Jaskier and Lambert from the top of the tower when they got too drunk to climb down it safely was an understatement. Lambert had still been keen to try, but seeing him swaying as he stood at the edge had made Jaskier skitter forward and pull him sharply back by his shirt, laughing when he fell on his ass and scowled at the dragon. 

They had both been sat down in the main hall and given a lecture by Vesemir and Borch about drinking in stupid places and being reckless while the others lurked in the hallway and chuckled at their misery before being sent off to bed. Jaskier had winced at the thought of the wake up call he would get in the morning from the two young girls, but the warmth of cuddling up around them was too enticing to resist. 

The good thing about two girls in the morning was that he had no chance to be miserable with the splitting pain in his head. Their immediate chattering and enthusiasm had him sitting down at the table in the main hall with a bowl of porridge, glaring at Eskel and Coën where they sniggered at him and Lambert. The other witcher was looking just as sorry as he felt, but he had a determined glint in his eyes that Jaskier was rather proud to see. 

“So, what are you two up to today? Going to get in more trouble, Lambert, so that Vesemir can send you running laps around the keep? We could all use the laugh.” Coën grinned, nudging Geralt where he sat beside the man. The white haired witcher grunted at him, looking at Lambert with an expression Jaskier couldn’t interpret. 

“Fuck off,” Lambert hissed, staring down at his plate. “Jaskier and I are busy today, doing something I should have done fucking years ago.” 

The witchers looked at each other in confusion. “Are you going looking for your marbles then, Lambert? You seem to have lost those a long time ago.” Coën laughed nervously, Lambert’s serious demeanour starting to confuse him. 

“No. I’m going to take care of our brothers, those left around the keep or out on The Killer. Hell, if I have the time, I might go and see that motherfucker, Speartip, and bring back the rest of my group. They don’t deserve to be left with him.” He lapsed into silence staring into his bowl. Jaskier sighed and wrapped his tail around the man’s wrist again, puffing a ring of smoke into his face when Lambert turned eyes filled with emotion onto the dragon. 

“Shit,” Eskel said under his breath, all of the witcher’s suddenly losing the teasing edge to them. “Shit. That’s, yeah. Can we, would you want us to help or?” 

Lambert looked up at them, his face an open book for them all to read. “Sure, sure. You can join the sobfest too. Should mean that we can get it all done in time, plus it should make it safer to deal with that old bastard. We can split up, then bring them all to the clearing by the lake. Jaskier thought we could build a pyre there, give them a proper farewell.” 

The witchers all looked at each other quietly for a moment, memories almost tangible in the air between them, before Geralt nodded and stood from the table. 

“Lambert, I can go with you to Old Speartip’s cave. We can kill that bastard once and for all and bring back your brothers.” Lambert clasped his forearm, using it to swing himself up from the bench before clapping the man on the shoulder. “Coën, Eskel, did you want to clear the area around the keep first? Then we can all work on finding those out on The Killer.” 

The other witchers nodded, moving to get ready, until Véa stood as well. 

“My sister and I will gather wood. We can prepare a pyre for you by this lake, give you a chance to say goodbye to your family.” 

The men nodded, not maintaining eye contact. 

Jaskier huffed at the show of emotion, trying to keep it all inside so he didn’t ruin the moment. “I am sure that Ciri and Saskia will want to help, Véa. I’ll go with Lambert and Geralt. From what Lambert was saying last night, numbers should be helpful dealing with this cyclops.” He could see Geralt readying himself to protest, but glared at the man until he subsided. There was no way in hell he was letting Lambert face what seemed to be one of the biggest monsters of his past without as much support as he could manage. 

Borch and Vesemir were both sitting in the corner, watching the rest of them with unreadable eyes. Jaskier looked at both of them, silently daring them to comment on what was happening. He was going to have to have words with Vesemir at some point, and if Borch said anything to upset these witchers as they finally tried to process what was most like decades worth of grief, he may just lose it. 

“Vesemir and I will work through this Killer,” Borch said, ignoring the way that Vesemir shot him a look as he spoke. “That way, you can all focus on what you are doing and take your time. No one needs to be injured because they were trying to hurry. We can meet you all at the lake at sundown, it should be a good clear night so the flames will reach the sky, as they should.” 

Vesemir stared at the other man for a moment before grunting and quickly leaving the room, not reacting at all to the way that Borch followed him out. The witchers looked at each other in confusion for a moment before the realisation of what they were about to do seemed to set in. 

“If any of you need, ah, to get a snack or something, Véa and Téa can get Ciri and Saskia to set up some stuff at the lake. Then, that can be like a meeting point if, for any reason, people need to ... stop for a minute and check on something else,” Jaskier said hesitantly. He wanted the witchers to have an excuse to take a break, if it all became a bit much. He was sure that today was going to pull up a lot of painful memories that they had all worked extremely hard to push down as deep as it could go, so hopefully they would be sensible enough to take a moment if they needed. 

The witchers grunted at him en masse and he had to physically stop himself from rolling his eyes. Yes, they were probably really uncomfortable with the emotions and all of that, but did they have to act like a bunch of savages raised by wolves. Huh, well, it probably wasn’t too far off, given what he knew of their upbringing, but still. There were basic manners to be observed and he was stalling for time and trying not to let the somber mood effect him as much as it was the witchers, fuck. 

The others looked at each other for a moment before splitting up, the women heading over to the girls where they had managed to miss the entire conversation as they played with Saskia’s ability to heat up their porridge to the perfect temperature and then moved on to seeing how hot she could make the table before they had to beat out the sparks. The witchers all did that ridiculously macho thing they did where they clasped each other’s forearms before heading out into the courtyard, Jaskier slowly following them. 

In the courtyard, they managed to find some wagons that they tended to use for firewood or lugging supplies up from the nearest town, and each pair took one with one of the horses. Eskel’s warhorse, Scorpion, looked rather ridiculous with a wagon behind his large bulk, but he was much happier about it than Roach, who was glaring balefully around her and trying to nibble on Geralt’s arm whenever he got too close. She took one look at Jaskier, sniffed him, and almost nudged him over with her nose, which seemed to be horse for  _ fuck’s sake make this indignity stop _ . 

The trek out to the cave that Old Speartip lived in was a quiet one. The trees were too close around the path, so Jaskier couldn’t fly. Lambert had quickly grown impatient with how slowly he could walk and dumped the dragon onto the wagon, much to Roach’s disgust. Neither witcher would talk, both fidgeting with their weapons as they scanned the treeline, Geralt’s hands running almost compulsively over the edge of his sword behind his back and Lambert tapping the tops of the bombs he had strapped around his waist and in a cross over his chest rhythmically. 

A sound started welling up in Jaskier’s throat, as much as he tried to repress it. Fuck, this was not the time for his stupid dragon magic to try and come out. He hadn’t even decided that he was willing to come to terms with the fact that his magic was at least partially responsible for his reputation as a bard, he didn’t want it ruining what was surely a trying moment for the witchers. 

Before he could stop it, the noise slipped out into the air, hanging on the light breeze and wrapping around them as they walked. It managed to be both melancholy and triumphant, sounding like a mix between a funeral dirge and a battle song. 

Both the witcher’s stopped for a moment, not looking at Jaskier but tilting their heads as if to listen closer. After a few seconds, they kept walking, their movements seeming more self assured and their stance a little more confident. While Jaskier was not terribly pleased that this stupid voice magic or whatever the fuck it was seemed to be slipping out of his control, he couldn’t be upset about anything that helped these men face what was most likely a horrifically upsetting and emotional task. 

The woods seemed to go quiet, allowing his song to weave through the trees around them as they slowly made their way, like some solemn procession. The wordless sound rose and fell around them, keeping time with their footsteps and echoing around them until it sounded like there were many more men walking with them. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Jaskier thought he saw shadowy shapes walking with them, young men who looked like they were barely out of their childhood alongside adults covered in scars. He saw Lambert and Geralt startle once they noticed them, both men whispering various names under their breath as they turned to look around them, but the shapes flickered and disappeared in the breeze when looked at directly. 

Geralt looked at Jaskier, raising an eyebrow and grunting when the dragon shrugged helplessly, unable to stop the song or explain what was happening. Once the men looked straight ahead again and continued walking, the shadows swam back into view, moving soundlessly to the rhythm of the song. 

The witchers were much more careful now. He could see them darting looks out of the corners of their eyes, their faces twin mirrors of shock and painful joy. 

The shapes around them were smiling, heads tipped back to echo Jaskier’s song back to them as they walked. These were the fallen witchers, those who had lost their lives on the Path, here to walk beside their brothers as they went to bring them home. They formed an honour guard around them, the older witchers marching in time solemnly while the younger boys still smiled cheekily up at Jaskier and occasionally broke from their spot in the procession to swing a sword mischievously at each other or jump up and swing from a low hanging branch, joyfully playing with each other as they went. 

Jaskier hoped that he would be able to recreate this magic for them, to allow these witchers to be present as their living family paid their respects to them as they should have so long ago. He hoped that they were proud of them, of the four remaining Wolves and the Griffin that kept them company. He hoped that they would be able to rest now, to feel peace now and know that they would be honoured throughout time if Jaskier had anything to do with it. 

One of the younger witchers jumped up onto the cart, smiling directly at Jaskier, and he knew that they could hear his thoughts, that they knew all that he wished for them. He let his voice swell, carrying throughout the trees and echoing back from the shadows of fallen warriors as they moved through a forest that had seen far too much loss and pain. 


	36. They’re just battle cries dear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys fight Old Speartip.

“So this is the cave then,” Jaskier said. 

The place was bleak, the lake looking still and lifeless as it lapped sluggishly at the shore, the cave dark and gloomy against the rocky cliff face. There were traces of white against the pebbly floor that Jaskier hated to see, signs of witchers who had not made it back from this particular trial. 

The shadows of the witchers were starting to dissipate slowly now that Jaskier was no longer singing, but they seemed unsettled by the place. Some of the older shades were standing defensively in front of some of the smaller ones who were staring at the cave with terrified expressions. Lambert was grimly not turning to look at some of the shades, his lips tight and fingers tapping along the tops of his bombs again as he almost shook with energy. Geralt was a complete contradiction, almost motionless as he stared at the entrance. Jaskier could almost see him running scenarios through his head in an attempt to find the safest way to get this task done. 

“Do we have a plan? Is there anything in particular I need to know before we go in? This is my first, um, what did you say it was, a cyclops, and I would hate to get in the way.” Jaskier hated the way he was rambling, but he needed something to break the trance both men seemed to be in as they faced this part of their upbringing. 

Geralt sighed, rolling his shoulders and turning to look at Jaskier. “Stay out of his reach. If all goes well, he should be asleep. Lambert, you have some grapeshot bombs? We can always throw a few at him, get him disoriented and hurt, then move in. Jaskier, if you focus on burning his face, that should keep the flames out of our way while also keeping him distracted. It should make it easier, and stop him from just stepping on the pair of us.” 

Lambert nodded, so Jaskier didn’t feel like he had much of a choice. Fuck, this was nerve wracking. He wasn’t a witcher, and now he was helping them to clear out one that had wiped out so many of their kin. Gods, he would be staying well out of this thing’s reach. He had no intention of getting squashed today. Fire from a distance he could do, and maybe his stupid magic would do something useful as well, besides bringing memories far too close to the surface for moments before a fight. 

The shades all nodded approvingly at the two witchers before melting away like mist, leaving the two men looking resolute. The both unsheathed their swords, Lambert, handing a few bombs to Geralt, before downing a vial each of gods only knew what kid of potion and slinking into the entrance of the cave. 

Jaskier sighed and jumped into the air, not wanting his claws to tap on the stone and give them away. He quietly flew after them, making sure to stay back enough that he wouldn’t be in the way if they launched into action. Thankfully, the tunnel they entered into was wide enough for him to stretch out his wings without brushing against any of the slimy looking things growing out of the walls. The place was disgusting and he couldn’t wait to be out of here. 

There was a gentle dripping sound echoing around them that helped to mask the sounds of the witchers as they moved and Jaskier’s wings. He was so focused on making sure that he was moving as quietly as possible, he didn’t notice that he was doing anything else until Lambert froze and turned to look at him in shocked panic. 

Fuck, the stupid sound magic was back and he really needed to ask Yennefer what that was actually called. He hadn’t managed to summon the shades of witchers past yet, instead, the song slipping from his throat seemed more like a lullaby, weaving through the dripping of water echoing through the cave to create a melody that felt like a warm blanket wrapping gently around them all. 

The witchers seemed able to shake it off once they noticed what it was doing to them, Lambert giving him a quick thumbs up before he kept moving forwards to the larger opening in the cave where Old Speartip made his home. Geralt looked at the dragon in shock for a moment longer before visibly pulling himself back into the moment and following after his brother. Jaskier resigned himself to not understanding his magic at all and followed, grateful that if it decided to manifest itself at random now at least it was doing it in ways that would help him to protect his witchers. 

As the dim light of the cave started to lighten, Jaskier could see where it opened up more. The large space was just as dismal as the rest of the cave had been, various slimy looking algae and mushrooms littering the floor intermixed with the distressingly plentiful gleaming white of witchers that had lost their lives in this horrific place mixed with rusty silver and steel that had been shattered or thrown away from the men who had been clinging to them. A hard note slipped into his song, one that had the witchers grinning at each other fiercely, their eyes alight with the kind of battlelust Jaskier had seen from Geralt when he lost himself in a fight or a hunt. Gods, he needed them to do this, to be safe most of all, but also to put this demon from their pasts to rest and find a way to move forward. 

There were various ledges around the side of the cavern that Geralt and Lambert moved towards, the man splitting up to cover different sides of the room. Jaskier spotted some stalagmites and quickly flitted over to one by the side of the space, wanting a good vantage point from which he could watch the witchers and get a look at this beast from their past. 

  
  


The cyclops was sprawled in the middle of the space next to what looked like a fire pit. He was huge, much larger than Jaskier had expected, with skin that resembled the rock he slept on littered with scars. The thing’s hands were the same size as Jaskier, and he couldn’t help the shiver of fear that ran through him, disrupting his song for a brief second and making the cyclops groan and stir. Shit, ok, that was a good indication as to what the song was doing. 

Lambert and Geralt had reached what he assumed were the optimal positions from the way they were now gesturing to each other in some form of shorthand. Jaskier kept the song flowing out of him, trying to focus it on the sleeping form of the cyclops to make sure that he was dead to the world while his witchers made their last minute preparations and each raised a hand with a bomb in it. They locked eyes, nodded to each other, and then Geralt threw his at the cyclops’ head before jumping gracefully down from the ledge. 

The cyclops let out an ear piercing scream, lunging to its feet and then screaming again when Lambert threw his bomb just as it seemed to get itself oriented, sending it reeling away from him and into Geralt’s flashing swords. The younger witcher let out a savage cry of his own as he charged towards the monster, his sword joining Geralt’s in a beautifully dangerous dance as they sank into the tough hide of the monster, flicking trials of scarlet blood through the air before dancing away and out of the reach of those huge hands. 

Jaskier steeled himself and leapt from his perch, blasting fire into the face of the beast. It screamed, stumbling away from his while trying to swat at the witchers who pirouetted around his feet, never stopping in their vicious dance. When a hand came flying up towards Jaskier to fend him off, he swore and dove aside, panicking slightly when a giant finger managed to clip one of his wings and send him crashing into a stalagmite. He ignored the sharp pain in his wing, forcing it to work as he moved quickly from pillar to pillar to keep out of reach, turning to blast fire at the thing whenever he had a chance. He could hear the witchers yelling his name in panic, but was far too focused on staying out of reach to respond. 

The swords were rather distracting, blurring through the darkness and cutting into the cyclops again and again while it focused on trying to catch the dragon that was flitting around the cave. Jaskier was far too busy trying to stay out of reach to respond to them, no matter how much he wanted to reassure them that he was alright. 

Gods, he just wanted this to be over. He wanted this cyclops that had killed so much of his witchers’ family to die, so it would never put anyone that he cared about at risk again. He wanted the witchers he had seen on the Path to be able to rest easy, knowing that the monster that had killed them would claim no more lives, that there would be no more boys stumbling there way through the dark with that stupid rhyme Lambert had said repeating over and over in their heads.  _ “Old Speartip is one deep sleeper, wake him up and you'll sleep deeper."  _ Fuck that shit. This asshole was sleeping as deeply as Jaskier could make him. 

He put on one final burst of speed, digging his claws into the rock face on the opposite side of the cave and snaking his head back to snarl at the cyclops. He felt his magic rising up in his throat, a warmth that felt like death and ruin and destruction welling up in his chest. He let it come pouring out of his mouth, a snarling, roaring cacophony that he couldn’t have stopped if he had wanted to. 

The shades of the witchers were back. He could see them, looking more solid than they had out on the Path, moving seamlessly with their brothers in a fight that seemed more like a dance than anything. Where their ghostly swords pierced the cyclops’ flesh, he could see ribbons of blood arcing into the dark. He sang louder, baring his teeth around the sounds that seemed to burn in his throat in vicious satisfaction as the cyclops screamed, turning away from him to try and bat away the shadowy forms. Geralt and Lambert redoubled their efforts, twisting and turning in graceful arcs around the shades as they moved. 

There was a sudden moment of stillness, a breath in the noise of the fight and the song, and then Lambert was suddenly on Speartip’s back, one arm around that thick neck and the other plugging his sword repeatedly into the single eye in his head. The cyclops gave one final groan and slumped, hitting the floor with a startlingly loud bang in the sudden silence as Jaskier’s voice tapered off in shock. Lambert managed to jump free before it fell, landing catlike next to it and glaring at the corpse. 

"That's for Voltehre,” he spat, glaring at Old Speartip where he lay on the cave floor. He raised his sword, as if to start slashing at the corpse to vent his anger, but was stopped by Geralt grabbing his arm. 

“It’s done, Lambert. He won’t be killing anyone else. Now let’s get our brothers and bring them all to the lake.” 

Lambert glared at Geralt mutinously before nodding, turning away from the sight of the dead cyclops to see the shades grinning triumphantly as they started shimmering back out of focus. 

“Fine. He doesn’t deserve our attention anymore. The bastard can rot. Let’s take them all home, give them the honour they deserve.” 

Their moment was interrupted by Jaskier dropping from the wall, less gracefully that he would have liked but hey, his wing was hurting like a bitch where Speartip had smacked it. He winced as he stretched it out, looking plaintively at Lambert when he saw the witchers watching him cautiously. 

“How come we go and fight a cyclops, you lot only get a couple of scratches that have already started healing, and I get a smacked up wing. Lambert, would you be a doll and carry me?” 

Lambert laughed, grinning at the dragon and almost vibrating with the adrenaline leaving his body. “Sure thing, Jask. I’ll carry you back to the wagon and you can guard it while we finish up here. It shouldn’t take too long, you either got past Old Speartip or stayed in this cavern. But you do realise that you’re going to be in so much trouble with the girls, right?” 

He groaned, pulling a face at the thought of how much Ciri and Saskia would fuss over this as Lambert pulled him up into his arms. He looked over the witcher’s shoulder as he started out of the cavern to see Geralt standing there, looking lost surrounded by the corpse and the remains that littered the cave. 

“Come on, Geralt! I need a second opinion on this wing when we get into some better light. I can’t trust this idiot with it; he thinks that his ridiculous moonshine has magical healing properties.” 

Jaskier managed to hide his smile as the witcher shook himself and started following after them, ignoring the way Lambert pinched his leg and muttered, “sneaky little dragon, aren’t you.” No one was being left to the mercy of their thoughts on his watch. 


	37. It paints the sky and circles high

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They say goodbye to the fallen witchers.

They made it back to the lake not long before sunset. Geralt and Lambert had both disappeared at times off into the trees on the pretense of looking for any more bodies, but neither had taken up Jaskier’s suggestion that they should go and get some snacks or something from the girls to have a bit of a break. Instead, the three of them had worked in stone faced silence, gathering the far too plentiful remains of the School of the Wolf and loading them into the wagon before heading back to meet the others. 

Eskel and Coën were already there when they arrived, halfway through unloading their wagon onto the pyre that had been constructed by the edge of the water. Véa was helping them while her sister kept the two girls busy creating something that looked like a headstone to mark the spot, Ciri using some tools to carve things into the rockface while Saskia used her claws. 

Coën was the first to see Lambert and Geralt leading the wagon out of the woods towards them, pausing in his work and waving at them with a solemn look on his face. The men waved back, Lambert keeping one hand resting on Jaskier where he had managed to perch himself on Roach’s back, much to her displeasure, when his wing had been hurting too much for him to fly after them. Geralt had been keeping his distance, as usual, so Jaskier was refusing to acknowledge the huge gaping hole in his chest that never seemed to go away and was instead devoting all of his energy into trying to find some form of catharsis for these men. 

“Where’s the old man?” Lambert called out as they got closer. “Did he get lost in the fucking woods? He should try leaving the keep every now and then, might actually get a sense of what the real world is like.” 

Jaskier leaned over and nipped him on the ear for that. He knew what Lambert was doing, trying to push back all of his emotions under his usual veneer of general assholeishness, but today was not the day for them all to be at each other’s throats. 

“He’s been back and set out again. Turns out, The Killer was rather more full than he had anticipated. Not that any of us would have expected otherwise,” Eskel said, rubbing at the scars on his face. 

Jaskier turned his attention away from the men for a moment, tuning out the sudden sharing of memories from that particular trial, to look at the pyre. It was far larger than he had anticipated, the top already covered in bones that gleamed in the fading light. The size of some of them had a sob choking in his throat. They were far too small, children sent out into the world and expected to survive against the monsters that most humans ran from. Gods above, he had no idea how any of them had managed to survive, especially when he could see for himself the evidence that so many did not. The shades he had seen before couldn’t prepare him for this, for the reality of so many dead and at such a young age. This here was the cost of keeping the Continent safe, paid in the lives of children and men who were shunned and ignored, treated like garbage and then left to die in an unmarked grave. This was what Jaskier needed to keep in mind, to make them all see just what was lost so that the same villagers who hissed and swore and spat at his witchers could go about their lives without fearing that at any second they would be attacked by ghouls or drowners. 

He was jolted out of his musing by a hand tapping Roach’s shoulder in front of him, Geralt looking at him in concern as he stood beside his horse. 

“Do you want a hand getting down?” he said, his eyes narrowing as he glanced at Jaskier’s wing where he had it tucked close to his side. 

“Ah, sure,” he replied, hesitantly shuffling to allow Geralt to lift him from Roach’s back easily. The witcher’s hands were a gentle pressure on his side, avoiding his wing and backing away as soon as he was on the ground as if he were afraid to hold onto him. “Thanks. Um, I don’t want to intrude here, if you all want to put them to rest yourselves, so I can just, er, I can go and help the girls or I can go and look for Vesemir and Borch or ah.” 

Geralt interrupted his rambling with an expression that Jaskier would have called a fond smile on anyone else’s face. “No, no. If you want, you can help. We just need to get the wagon unhitched from Roach so she can graze and piss off Scorpion, then we can get started. Can we get you up on top of the pyre to organise. You have more of an idea as to how we can make sure that this is, that we do this right for them instead of just getting it done as quickly as possible and I, they deserve this. They deserve this to be as much as we can make it.” 

With words like those, how could Jaskier refuse. He nodded at the witcher, nudging his head against his head in a show of support before stretching his wings to see just how sore they were and quickly flying up to the top of the pyre to try and create some form of organisation. He could see how much it pained the witchers to be doing this, to be carrying the remains of their fallen family, and it showed in the haphazard way they had started to fill the top of the pyre. With a sigh and a small shake to dispel any lingering thoughts about touching the remains, he put himself to work trying to find an orderly way to lay the various bodies despite their varying conditions and sometimes lack of completion. 

It was several hours later before Borch and Vesemir returned. The boys quickly moved over to their wagon to start unloading, barely speaking to each other as a somber mood seemed to bear down on them all with the weight of the watching mountains. Thankfully, these men were some of the strongest he had ever known, and they would not buckle under the weight of their own grief. Jaskier would be here to help them to pay their respects and gain the closure that they all deserved and needed so desperately. 

Vesemir was quiet as he worked alongside the men he had trained, not meeting their eyes, but Jaskier noticed that the man that Geralt had always claimed was their rock, their strength who taught them and kept them alive, was shaking slightly as he handled the bones of the boys who had not come home. The faint tremor was nearly imperceptible, but from his vantage point atop the pyre, Jaskier could see how the eldest witcher hesitated when reaching for the next body, how he bowed his head and muttered something under his breath before steeling himself and continuing with the task he had set himself. It was heartbreaking to see and Jaskier hoped to himself that the others would notice, that it would cool some of the lingering resentment he knew Lambert held to see just how painful this was for the man. It clearly hadn’t been out of lack of respect that Vesemir had not encouraged them to do this years ago.

Once they had the pyre arranged to their satisfaction, they all moved to stand at a distance, gazing at the way the pile of wood stood out against the backdrop of the lake and the mountains, far far too large for any person to have to shoulder the grief of. The witchers were gazing at the pyre, dry eyed but looking much more vulnerable than men the size of brick walls had any right to. Saskia and Ciri were standing next to them solemnly, the melancholy air managing to affect them. Véa and Téa were a silent honour guard around the girls, watching over them with the same dedication that they showed to everything, while Borch was standing next to Vesemir, his shoulder brushing against the witcher’s in a silent show of support. 

Jaskier was sitting between Lambert and Eskel, his tail curled around Lambert’s leg while he leaned against Eskel’s. No one was talking, just staring at the grim reminder of mortality in front of them, until Borch stepped forward, his voice carrying clearly through the air. 

“The School of the Wolf has protected these lands for hundreds of years. The men here have given their lives to protect this place and to become the kind of men who make this Continent safe for everyone else. They have trained and fought to keep their brothers safe, and for that I thank them. Because of these men, I have been lucky enough to meet the witchers here who carry on that tradition. Tonight, we pay our respects to those that have gone before, and honour their sacrifices. Witchers are the protectors of this Continent, but the School of the Wolf is known as protectors of the innocent. They are not the mindless killers that some would paint them as, they are kind and loyal, and they deserve much more than to be left out in the cold without recognition.” 

He stepped back, looking around as if waiting from someone else to go next. The witchers all looked like they would rather cuddle a rotfiend, and no one else seemed willing to talk either. 

The same tune as earlier started welling up in Jaskier’s throat, and he could see Geralt and Lambert’s expressions ease slightly as they recognised it. With a sigh, Jaskier gave into the pull in his chest, the heat welling up inside him and then spilling out of his mouth in that same melancholy tune. He could hear gasps of surprise from the others as the shadowy forms of the witchers slowly flickered into view, as well as Borch’s sudden hushed conversation with Téa and Véa about what Jaskier was doing, but the music was taking all of his focus. 

The shades of the witchers were gathered around the pyre, looking up at where their bodies lay with solemn expressions before turning to look on the witchers left alive. The five witchers were muttering names under their breath, elbowing each other and pointing out the figures of their friends long gone with bittersweet excitement. The shadowy forms of children started pushing past the adults, running over excitedly to those still living and grinning up at them as if they could see the young men who had trained with them as they had been so many years ago, rather than the weathered and weary warriors who stood before them. 

The adults moved to stand behind the children, smiling fondly at them before turning proud expressions on those still living. As one, they inclined their heads to the last of the School of the Wolf. 

Borch looked at the witchers then at the shades. When the shadowy form of a grizzled warrior who couldn’t seem to take his eyes from Vesemir broke his stare to nod at the dragon, Borch walked over to the pyre. 

“I can light this, send them on to their rest. But only if you are all ready.” 

The gathered witchers took one last look at the echoes of their brothers before nodding, none of them willing to speak. Borch smiled gently at them, turning and lighting the pyre in one long breath that glowed in the darkening light. 

Against the dying light of the day, the pyre lit up with a warm glow, smoke raising towards the pink hued sky with soft tendrils while the flames danced on the breeze. All of the gathered witchers, alive and dead, turned to watch it burn. 

Lambert was the first to break ranks, stepping forward amongst the ghosts until he was just out of reach of the flames. “Sleep well,” he muttered, casting a quick igni to add to the blaze before hurrying back to the others. 

Coën was next, a whispered “I’ll look after your wolves for you,” and another igni to add to the blaze. Then he was clapping Eskel on the shoulder, pushing the other witcher forward. 

“We’ll keep up the fight. You can count on us,” the witcher rasped, his voice sounding thick with emotion. His igni was much more powerful, sending a stream of flames up into the sky. 

Geralt grunted when Eskel nudged at him, moving forward hurriedly and the pausing in front of the flames for a moment. Ciri quickly rushed forward, grabbing at his hand and staring at the flames in determination. 

“Thank you for Geralt,” she said, turning to flash a smile to the ghosts around them. “And all the others too. I’ll look after your family now.” 

“You deserved more. I will make sure that the world knows what it has lost,” Geralt vowed. When he walked back towards them, he met Jaskier’s eyes for a moment. The dragon couldn’t stop the song pouring out of him to reassure the witcher, but he hoped he could read the emotion in his eyes. 

Then the younger witchers turned to look at Vesemir. The eldest witcher had been stone still the whole time apart from the fine tremor running through him. He didn’t seem able to move until Saskia flitted over to jump onto his shoulders and whisper something into his ear too low for the others to hear over the crackling of flames. He nodded gently to her, then walked forward. 

“I trained most of you, or trained alongside you. I am so sorry that I couldn’t keep you safe, more sorry than you will ever know. I will keep the others alive, until I come to join you. I promise, I will do everything I can to keep them safe, just like you did.” 

His quick igni seemed to sap all of the strength out of him, leaving him crumbled on the floor while Saskia desperately tried to comfort him. The other witchers only paused for a moment before they rushed forward to kneel around their mentor, lending strength to him with their silent presence. 

Jaskier bore witness to their grief, devoting all of his energy to keeping the song going, to keeping those shades here as long as he could. They had moved to stand around the grieving witchers, offering solace with their presence, and Jaskier couldn’t bear to be the reason that they lost that form of comfort. He stayed there, with Téa and Véa as silent guards on either side of him, until the pyre had long burnt down and all that was left was five witchers kneeling in the dirt, the last of the School of the Wolf bathed in moonlight as they let go of the past and prepared to face a new dawn together. 


	38. The dark things that wait

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yennefer lets the others know how she has fared.

The next few days were quiet in Kaer Morhen. None of the witchers were particularly vocal, not that they really had been before, and their pensive mood had extended to everyone else in the keep. Vesemir had almost completely secluded himself in a room that Eskel had told Jaskier had been the barracks where all of the witchers had slept during the winter. Now that there was so few of them left, they had been able to have separate rooms, but the older witcher clearly wanted some time to grieve the memory of lost friends and no one was willing to intrude on that. 

It did mean that when Yennefer suddenly called on the xenovox again, the excitement in her voice audible to everyone, it had come as a complete shock. The sudden urgency had jolted them all out of their reminiscence and sent Jaskier back into the panic he had thought he had found a way to get past. 

While everyone else seemed able to switch from melancholy to determined preparation in a heartbeat, Jaskier found himself back to hiding. He became more acquainted with the various cupboards around the place than he had ever wanted, and to his surprise, found that under the witchers’ beds was also a fantastic place to disappear for a few hours and try to get his breathing back into something that resembled normal. 

They provided a nice, dark space that carried the scent of each witcher, which was creepy of him to notice but it helped him to feel safe so he would be taking that secret to the grave. It was also helpful that the beds were low enough that it made it hard for anyone else to get to him, so once they finally managed to find where he was hiding he had been subjected to a lot of swearing and attempted sweet talking to try and convince him to come out before they had to break the bed to him to come down to eat. 

Gods, he hated how awful he felt all of the time. Yennefer had told them that she would be rendezvousing with Vilgefortz within the week and bringing him back to the keep, and the uncertainty had Jaskier going out of his mind. Every little noise, from the sounds of Saskia and Ciri playing obliviously about the keep to Téa and Véa training with the witchers in the courtyard, had him shaking like a leaf and expecting the honeyed tones of Vilgefortz to seep into the room. He was going out of his mind, no matter how often people came and sat next to his current hiding place to reassure him that they would never allow the mage to so much as touch him again. 

They had no idea what they were talking about. They hadn’t been there, shoved into a cage and treated as little more than a dumb animal. They hadn’t been beaten and burnt and poked and stabbed until they would do anything just to make it stop, only to start to wish for that torture after days being left alone to the hallucinations just to be able to tell what was real and what was not. While he knew that they were only trying to help, they had no clue what he had been through and just how dangerous Vilgefortz was, so forgive him if he wasn’t listening avidly to all of their reassurances. 

He knew that they meant well, that this was their way of trying to fix things, but none of it was helping. If the thought of running away to the coast and being far far away from wherever Vilgefortz happened to be wasn’t tempered with an overwhelming fear that he would hurt anyone in this keep, he would have taken to the air and never looked back. Now, he was held in limbo between fear so deep it was almost paralysing and the bone deep need to protect the people he cared for. If the only way he knew to deal with it all was to end up shaking beneath Geralt’s bed, hoping stupidly that the man would come and awkwardly try to talk him out, then so be it. He had never pretended to have much pride before, bravado and confidence yes, but not pride in who he was as anything beyond an entertainer, and he sure as hell didn’t need to start now. 

The first he knew of Vilgefortz arriving was a suspicious silence around the keep. He was hidden under Geralt’s bed, not that this happened to be his favourite place to cower, when Ciri had suddenly taken off down the hall to investigate the sudden quiet and he had let out a quiet moan of fear before clamping his jams shut on his tail in an attempt to keep himself from making any noise. He had lain there, straining with every inch of his being to hear something, anything. 

After a few hours, the sound of footsteps echoed up the corridor approaching the room where he hid and he heard a gentle sigh before the door was opened. The only thing that kept him from completely losing himself to his fear was the decidedly feminine frustration in the sigh and the scent of lilac and gooseberries that drifted in the room with her. 

“Jaskier, darling. If I hadn’t had to go into your mind before and seen just what he had done to you, I would honestly be a little upset that you think so little of me that I would allow that worm anywhere near you without taking all of the necessary precautions and then some. I’m the big bad bitch that the Brotherhood doesn’t want anything to do with, although that could also be due to the fact that I don’t give a shit what that bunch of old fuddy duddies wants, but still. That asshole is well and truly contained. He has enough dimeritium on him to subdue half the Northern mages at once and then we shoved him in that cell that Eskel made. He won’t touch you, Jaskier, I promise you that.” 

Jaskier wanted to believe the confidence that almost oozed from every pore of the mage, but he couldn’t force the awful choking panic back as it rose and fell within him like the tides battering at a rock. When her hand shifted casually to rest under the bed, he managed to force himself to move enough to rest his head on her hand, still gnawing on his tail in his worry. She sighed again, gently tapping on his jaws until he released his tail with a whine before she started stroking his head gently. 

“I’m going to have Triss bring me something for you to drink, nothing that will impact your ability to reason or keep yourself safe, just enough to help you calm a little. You need to be at your best for this, darling, and at the moment you are getting trapped in the memories. You are a gods damned dragon, Jaskier, and you have learnt so much since that asshole took advantage of you. If you could only see how powerful you are.” 

He wished he could see himself like she did. He was ridiculous, cowering under a bed that he only fit under when he was stretched out flat so that the slope of his shoulders just touched the bottom of the bed above him. He was a disgrace to dragons everywhere. He was meant to be some awe inspiring creature of mythic proportions, able to burn down villages and castles with ease, but here he was, terrified out of his mind at the prospect of a mage being anywhere near him. He knew that in theory, he could most likely kill the mage with ease, but his brain kept flashing back to that cage and the phantom burn of the collar around his neck kept him shackled in his fear. 

He didn’t know how much time passed before there was a knock on the door that jerked him out of the tide of anxiety he was skirting the edge of with only Yennefer’s rhythmic patting keeping him from slipping and being borne away. 

“I have a tisane for him. It should help to ease the panic, but won’t make him sleepy or anything. I wouldn’t want him to feel like he can’t react as he needs,” Triss said, approaching the bed and then sliding a bowl wide enough for Jaskier to drink from under the bed. The wisps of steam that rose off of it were soothing, and at Yennefer’s reassuring scratches behind his ears he managed to lift a head that felt like it was heavier than the entirety of Kaer Morhen and started drinking as he listened to the women talking. 

“Tissaia was looking for you, but she got waylaid by Lambert and Eskel. The boys seem rather fascinated with her, and I have the impression that they are going to be doing their best to wind her up. You know how uptight Tissaia is, I thought she was going to burst when she saw just how rundown this place is. How long do you think she will last before she starts trying to fix up this place so that it meets the standards of the Rectoress of Aretuza?” 

Both women laughed softly at that. 

“Tissaia needs to get that stick out of her ass and learn to live a little. I have to say, I am looking forward to seeing just how badly she clashes with some of the boys here. Those overgrown and overmuscled children are going to be in for a shock if they try some of their stupid shit on her, and she is going to lose her mind when she sees just what lovely accommodation has been prepared for her. I expect a full remodeling of at least her room before the night is through, and then I give her a few days before she starts in on the rest of this place.” Yennefer’s voice was an odd mix of scathing and fond as she talked about this new addition to the keep, and Jaskier found himself intrigued to meet this woman. He supposed he should be excited to feel anything beyond fear, but he was too tired from his emotions to be proud.

“It’s going to be hilarious. I personally am just waiting to see how her and Vesemir get along. It’s either going to end with them thick as thieves or burning the keep down as they scream at each other. Care to take bets which one it will be?” 

Triss laughed at Yennefer’s snarky comments, her joy infectious as usual. It was enough to coax Jaskier to move slightly further forward, pushing the bowl with him until he had managed to extend his neck out of the comforting darkness created by the blankets hanging from Geralt’s floor to rest in Yennefer’s lap. Neither mage acknowledged his movements beyond a pleased smile, Yennefer’s hand continuing to pat at him like he was an overgrown cat while she gossiped with Triss. He was thankful for their discretion. He needed some time to push back the fear and find a way to conquer it. 

  
He knew that if he could overcome this, if he could find a way to feel powerful and strong, he would be able use this opportunity to show himself that the mage currently in the dungeon was not the specter that he had become in his mind, but for now, he needed to work on smaller steps. Managing to leave this room would be the first one, and then he could work from there. Whatever he did, he knew it would be with the support of everyone of his friends, and with two insanely powerful sorceresses sitting beside him chattering away like naughty students hiding from their teacher, he let himself believe that he would find a way to be as brave as they all thought he was. 


	39. Between you and him

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tissaia makes an impression on everyone.

Everyone was surprised to find Jaskier at the dinner table that night, least of all Jaskier. Whatever Triss had given him, it helped to push back the raging panic that had threatened to overwhelm him to a level that felt manageable, while still leaving him alert enough to feel safe moving around the keep (or as safe as he thought he would ever feel knowing that Vilgefortz was under the same roof as him.) While he was still jumpy as all hell, he felt proud to be able to function somewhat despite his fear. From the looks all of the witchers had given him, he was sure that he reeked of fear, but no one was mentioning it at all. 

It did mean he got to meet Tissaia and that was an experience not to be missed. The woman was sitting at the table in the hall, continuously adjusting her sleeves as she glared around the room in disapproval. Her dress was remarkably rigid, reminding Jaskier more of armour than some of the lacy contraptions that Yennefer tended to favour. The woman was almost as tightly wound as he was, sitting as if her back were strapped to a ruler as she surveyed the room with an expression that suggested that everything was slightly lacking but that she would have no problem whipping it back into shape.

“This may be suitable for witchers, master Vesemir, but it will not do for mages. I shall be making adjustments to your ... delightful keep to ensure that my girls and I are able to work. Really, Yennefer, Triss, you have been staying here? I expected more from you, Triss. I can understand Yennefer putting up with this level of disarray, she has proved time and again that she would rather be contrary than sensible, but this is just too far.” She sniffed, glaring around the table and lining up the cutlery in front of her fastidiously. 

“Ah, Madame de Vires. How pleasant to hear your dulcet tones so early in the morning,” Vesemir grumbled. Lambert was snickering as he brought in the food with Ciri’s help until both Tissaia and Vesemir fixed him with steely glares. 

Jaskier watched the woman carefully as he sat on Yennefer’s lap, despite not really being small enough to fit anymore, in an attempt to feel like Vilgefortz wasn’t going to materialise behind him at some point. He could feel the witchers at the table watching his every move, but couldn’t muster up the energy for anything beyond holding himself stone still to try and stop the shivers from wracking his body. 

“Hm, yes, I imagine that tone works well on your men. It does seem fitting that the only room in this entire place that looks functional is your dungeon, but I don’t know what else I expected. My girls will focus on making sure that Vilgefortz is contained while I work on this place. Yennefer does have a penchant for inflicting pain, so she can have a target other than me for once.” The look she flicked towards Yennefer had Jaskier tensing up even more, feeling like his bones would shatter with the pressure, but Yennefer just chuckled darkly. 

“Not to worry, Tissaia. I am more than capable of ruining everyone’s day at once.” He felt her turn behind him to pull Ciri into a one armed hug against her side, the young girl taking the opportunity to snuggle closer and start trying to feed Jaskier some of the cheeses Lambert had brought out. 

“Ciri, darling, why don’t you help Tissaia today. You can show her around the keep and make sure that she knows what each room is used for. I am sure she will have lots of lovely stories about how awful I was when I was younger for you to weasel out of her.” 

Ciri grinned down at Jaskier, starting to play with his tail as he chewed slowly on the food she had all but shoved into his mouth to keep her from feeding him more. 

“Sure thing, Yenna. Saskia, you should come and help! Then we can show Tissaia all the best places to hide when the witchers want you to do the Pendulum or dishes.” 

Jaskier’s sister was sitting at the other end of the table from him, held tight in Borch’s arms. She had been watching Jaskier quietly, her eyes narrowing every time he flinched at someone’s too rapid movement around the table or an involuntary tremor ran through his body. 

“Of course, Ciri. Geralt, you can look after Jaskier today then. The others all seem like they will be busy making the bad man scream, so you have to make sure that Jaskier laughs at least five times.” She turned a rather stern glare on Geralt that had the man looking quite taken aback, nodding quickly before he seemed to register what he was doing. 

A small smile flitted across Tissaia’s lips before she nodded approvingly at Saskia. “I would be very pleased to have both of you accompany me around the keep. I am sure that we can entertain ourselves quite well.” With that, she stood from the table and nodded to the witchers staring at her in confusion. “Once I have finished my work, I would be most interested to talk to you,” here she flicked that smile that reminded Jaskier rather more of a knife than anything else to Téa and Véa. “I am rather interested in hearing more about the relationship that Zerrikania has with dragons and if their innate magic has any impact on your day to day lives. But, only if you are willing. I know that Phillipa was told in no uncertain terms what to do with her questions when she tried to be her busybody self, and I have no wish to intrude.” 

With another quick adjustment to the sleeves of her dress, she swept from the room, Ciri and Saskia quickly hurrying after her with gleeful smiles on their faces. Ciri even started fidgeting with her own clothes like a little mirror, something that had Yennefer chuckling into a glass of wine that she had conjured at some point during the conversation. 

“Tissaia has no idea what she has just gotten herself into. If she thought that I was unruly, wait until she says something to annoy Ciri and Saskia. I think the three of them shall have a highly informative day together.”

Triss laughed at Yennefer’s comment. The witchers at the table looked rather traumatised by what had just happened, seemingly unable to handle the force of nature that seemed to be Tissaia de Vries. Jaskier was right there with them. He had the feeling that if they were meeting in a much better situation, then he would have loved to go toe to toe with the woman, but as it stood, he was far too concerned with resisting the urge to charge through the keep at top speed to find the nearest bed to cower under. 

Yennefer’s constant petting as she ate her food was one of the few things keeping him anchored, alongside the feeling of amber eyes watching him from under hair the colour of snow. The pair of them were an intimidating team and were keeping him from feeling like his heart was about to beat out of his chest to land on the table in an awful gory mess and how fantastic, his nerves were allowing his imagination to run away with him and create various traumatising images to play out in his head. How could this day get any better?

It turns out, this day could indeed get much much better. And if that sentence wasn’t absolutely dripping with sarcasm, that was only because Jaskier was not currently at his best and most bitchy. What he was, was hiding on the top of a tower trying to force himself to climb out from the tiny little hole in the broken stonework that he had found and fly down to where Geralt was standing on a rather precarious looking broken stair trying to reassure him as screams echoed through the air in a very familiar voice. 

While he could see Geralt staring up at him, those amber eyes wide with concern and his mouth moving as he talked to Jaskier more than he had in an entire season on the Path sometimes, there was a phantom weight of a collar around his neck and he could hear that screaming voice echoing around and around on his head, promising pain and destruction when he was freed. 

He just knew, deep in his bones where the pain of his imprisonment and his life with his mother lived, that Vilgefortz would find him and would make him pay for everything that happened to him in Kaer Morhen. There was no way that the mage would not put the pieces together, not when it was so incredibly clear in Jaskier’s mind that the pathetic little dragon who had been caged and beaten into submission was connected to the violence that he was sure that Yennefer was dispensing right now, and when he managed to find a way out of that dungeon, he would vent all of his fury on Jaskier. 

He was sure that what Geralt was saying was reassuring and filled with lots of logical facts about why Jaskier would be safe and how he would be protected, but that was not helping right now. It didn’t help that Geralt’s voice was blending into a melodious hum, the words indecipherable over the pounding in his head, the screams from below, and the memories that were replaying again and again in his mind. He wished that he could tell Geralt, that he could let him know that his support was much appreciated but ultimately useless, but he couldn’t move let alone speak. Just one more awful thing to add to the list of reasons why Jaskier was miserable right now. 

He didn’t know how long he was stuck there, shivering and hating the way that the jagged rocks scraped against his scales with every slight movement. All he knew was that one second he was staring at Geralt, wishing he could move just a little bit to try and reduce the worry in the poor man’s eyes, the next there was the awful ozone scent of magic in the air and before he could scream he found himself being pulled from his hiding place by invisible hands and deposited in Geralt’s arms. 

He panicked, squirming and trying to borrow himself against the witcher in an attempt to hide from the source of the magic, gripping at the man’s arms with his claws and hating the coppery tang that filled the air. He could feel the vibrations in Geralt’s chest that meant that he was most likely talking, whether to him or to someone else he didn’t know, but Jaskier swore that he could hear Vilgefortz talking to him. He could hear the man talking like he always had as the dragon coward in that cage, thinking aloud about the next experiment he would try. 

“I think that after your latest stunt, my pet, you have volunteered yourself for some more intensive examination. I had heard rumours that dragons have regenerative qualities, why do we not start by seeing just how quickly that tail of yours can grow back.” 

He let out a terrified moan, feeling the heat of the man’s breath getting closer to him, finger closing around his tail even as the collar started to burn against his neck. He wheezed, choking for breath, and scrabbled at Geralt’s arms desperately. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, this is more than just his mind,” he heard, Geralt’s voice somehow swimming back into focus as Vilgefortz started musing to himself about just how much of his tail he would slice off. “Tissaia, do something.” 

The smell of clean soap mixed with an almost burning smell moved closer to him, before cool fingers moved to press against his temples. He wished that he could try to shake them off, to move away from all of the hands grabbing at him, but he was paralysed by fear. A cool, sharp presence seemed to slip into his mind, pushing the clouds of fear back slightly and dulling the sensation of the collar on his neck or the knife being dragged up and down his tail as it prepared to slice. He quivered in Geralt’s arms, almost daring to hope that this was all just some awful nightmare that would end soon. 

“It appears that Vilgefortz is rather more intelligent than we had anticipated. I shall tell Yennefer now to search him. It would seem that he has a few different charms all set to go, and had one to target Jaskier here. It would be relatively simple to arrange, given that he had something of his, a scale or a drop of blood. All he would need to do is activate the charm with a particular motion or word in the presence of the charmed item, and voila. We have a dragon that is experiencing whatever delight Vilgefortz’s twisted little mind decided would be an adequate punishment.” 

Tissaia sighed, her presence in his mind reminding him of a coiled snake, all deadly power in a sleek, highly controlled form that could lash out into action in a split second. It was terrifying, but it seemed to be pushing away the sensation of Vilgefortz, his voice getting fainter and fainter as he felt her power slipping through his mind as if hunting it out. He tried to do his best to help her, tried to stop himself from tensing up as he felt her methodical progress through every twist and turn of his brain, but he could still hear the awful sounds of Vilgefortz screaming mingled with his own cries of pain. 

“How pathetic. This is the kind of work I would expect from one of my students, one who doesn’t have the patience to follow instructions at that. Your dragon should be fine, but for the sake of his mind, I believe this may be necessary.” 

Her voice was the last thing Jaskier heard as that snaking power went from hunting through his mind to gently hissing him into sleep. He was so thankful that he could no longer hear or feel Vilgefortz, he hoped that she could pick that up from his mind. 

_ Sleep, Jaskier. I would very much like to meet the man who has so vexed Yennefer, and for that to happen you need to be well rested. I will deal to Vilgefortz and make sure that he cannot harm you, you have my word. Rest and let your witcher fuss over you. _

He felt a smile ease the lines of strain his face had been twisted into at the undercurrent of affection that she couldn’t suppress in her carefully controlled voice. Tissaia de Vries was a force to be reckoned with, and he hoped to be graced with a peek under that icy exterior. 


	40. A broken pot can still hold water

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yennefer has an idea for how Jaskier can conquer his fears.

“Who knows? Maybe this is just what he needs. Maybe he just needs to face him and see just how far he has come. It isn’t like that spineless worm hasn’t put two and two together. The girls and I weren’t particularly subtle went we went on a small murder spree through that hellhole in Toussaint looking for him. He won’t know who he really is, Triss and I worked with Tissaia to construct a spell that will stop him from hearing Jaskier’s name, even if that loudmouth brother of yours went down there and screamed it in his face, so he will never be able to trace this back to him once he is able to shift again. But that’s besides the point anyway. There is no way in hell I am allowing that asshole to leave that room unless it is in a million tiny pieces, and I think you agree with me there.” 

Waking to Yennefer’s prissy tone that she got when she was being especially smug and self righteous was not top of Jaskier’s list of things to do, but apparently that was what he was being treated to this morning. He was a little terrified that he was understanding her correctly as well, because if she was suggesting what he thought she was, he would rather chew off his own foot then come face to face with Vilgefortz, even if he had a sneaking suspicion that she was most likely correct. Gods, if she knew that he agreed with her on this, she would be insufferable. He rather hoped that whoever she was talking to was going to present some amazing reasons why Jaskier should in no way go anywhere near those dungeons so that both Yennefer and the awful voice in the back of his head would be silenced. 

“Hmm,” Geralt grunted, the surface that Jaskier was pressed up against vibrating with the noise. “He isn’t like us, Yen. He’s still, there’s still light in him. This could break that, and I know that you want that about as much as I do.” 

Yennefer sighed in disgust. “He’s stronger than you think, Geralt; he’s had to be with the shit that he’s been through. He’s also pretending to be asleep like a coward, which is beneath him in my opinion.” 

Jaskier sighed and managed to pry his eyes open, blinking at the light and ignoring the rather angry rumble in Geralt’s chest at being called out. “What happened?” he said in a strained voice. He hated the way it shook, but apparently today was out to get Jaskier and this was just icing on the cake. 

“You panicked suddenly. One minute you were fine, well, as fine as you have been lately, the next I found you on the top of the west tower shaking like a leaf.” Geralt’s voice was rough with emotion, something that had Jaskier looking at him quizzically even as he started to shake again with panic. 

“Tissaia had a look in your mind. She could feel your fear across the keep, she said, so she came to investigate like the nosy witch she is. Turns out, that fucker had a charmed bead tied into his hair where we wouldn’t notice it. He must have put two and two together and realised that we were punishing him for what he did to you, so he set off the charm. Tissaia managed to break it’s hold on you, but it sounds like it was intended to send you a particular vision that he must have pre recorded onto the bead, allowing him to torment you and hopefully distract us so that he would be able to escape. That asshole underestimated us all though.” She bared her teeth here in a rather savage grin. “He didn’t think that any of us would be able to break the charm, started bragging to us about silly little girls from Aretuza could never measure up to a Ban Ard boy. Fucker. I decided to show him just what us girls were learning in Aretuza.” 

Her eyes were like violet flames and Jaskier was rather pleased that he had never pissed her off enough to get that look aimed at himself. She looked like a vengeful goddess, and it was moments like this where he understood completely why Geralt was so in love with this woman despite how much the two clashed. 

“I shall have to thank Tissaia then. It was, it was not the most pleasant experience in my life. I really thought that he was there, that he had me again, and that it would all be like it was before. I can’t do that again, Yennefer, I really can’t. I will lose my mind if it happens, I swear to you.” 

Geralt’s arms clutched him tighter against his chest and he couldn’t fight the warm feeling that was growing in his chest amidst the panic that was trying to fill him like a thick fog. It was nice to pretend that Geralt cared for him as much as he did for the witcher, and it was enough to give him a little bit of bravery, just enough to do what he knew he should. 

“I. I can face him. I, fuck, I think I have to face him. I have to know that he can’t do this to me, that I won’t be the fucking pet that he tried to make me. I need to look him in the eyes and know that I’m safe. I just, I don’t know if I can.” His voice broke on that last work and sobs started shaking his frame. He knew that he should try and get out of Geralt’s arms, that he was too heavy and awkward for the man to be holding especially when his tears were making him twist in the man’s grip, but he was so gods damned glad that he didn’t let go of him for a second. 

“Jaskier. You don’t have to. Yennefer was just, she was being Yennefer. If you don’t want to see him, no one will force you.” 

Gods, Jaskier hated the fact that he was most likely looking up at Geralt with the most pathetic heart eyes the world had ever seen. He could hear Yennefer scoff at him and knew that she would have a lot to say about it later, but really, what was he meant to do when Geralt was so distractingly protective. 

“No, Geralt, it’s not Yennefer’s fault. I just. I need to do this. I do. It might help and I sure as hell can’t continue to live this way. But, I, ah, might not do it today. I might save it for tomorrow, when I feel less like I’ve been trampled by Roach.” 

“Marvelous plan,” Yennefer drawled, smiling viciously at him when he turned his head to squint at her in annoyance. “After what that worm did to you today, I don’t think we should be giving him the satisfaction. Make him think that his stupid charm was as pathetic as he is, then show up as your usual fabulous self and show him just how much he does not matter at all. For now, Tissaia said she wanted to see you when you had woken up, and you absolutely have to see just how far she got on her little quest to bring this place up to her standards.” 

Jaskier sighed and nodded, happy that Geralt made a similar sound and stood to follow Yennefer without putting him down at all. It wasn’t that he particularly wanted to be carried around like a needy little baby, but if he was being honest, he very much wanted to be carried around like a needy little baby. Geralt’s arms around him felt like the only thing that was stopping him from falling back into that awful fog of horror and pain, and he was not willing to give that up if he didn’t have to. Maybe that was childish and selfish of him, but he was beyond caring at this point. He just wanted to cling to any kind of comfort that he could, and if that meant taking advantage of Geralt’s momentary kindness, then so be it. 

As they moved through the keep, Jaskier thought he was losing his mind. It wasn’t that he had ever really taken notice of the state of disrepair the place was in, the scorch marks that littered some of the walls, the rubble and holes in the wall that gave glimpses into abandoned rooms or the stormy sky outside, but it was rather disconcerting to not hear the wind whistling through the various cracks and missing bricks, or not be jostled about as Geralt picked his way through the debris left behind by the long ago attack on Kaer Morhen. Clearly, Tissaia had been hard at work in between saving dragons from their own minds, and Jaskier was rather pleased with the results. 

“Fuck. Vesemir is going to lose it,” Geralt muttered, his eyes scanning the hallways with what looked like wonder when Jaskier moved his head to watch the man’s reactions. “Your Rectoress might want to rein it in a bit, Yenna.” 

“Ha,” Yennefer laughed. “Like I could ever tell her what to do. Tissaia will do what she wants and tell everyone she always knows best. That’s what she does. And I would be more worried about your Vesemir, Geralt. Tissaia is likely to lecture him into next year about the need for a clean and tidy environment to fully harness all of one's potential.” Her voice turned mocking and prissy, clearly laughing at the expense of the missing mage. It made it all the funnier when another voice cut through the air as they turned the corner and Yennefer tried to cover a small scream when she almost ran into Tissaia. 

“Well well well. How pleasing to know that you remembered something from your education, Yennefer. And I do so love the impression of me; it’s not at all unbecoming for a woman of your stature to be making jokes like some village idiot.” She turned her unimpressed glare from Yennefer to look appraisingly at Jaskier where he was held in Geralt’s arms. 

“Now, I must apologise for traipsing uninvited through your mind, Jaskier, but it was the most expedient way to prevent Vilgefortz’s spell from causing irreparable harm. And I must say, your mind is rather delightfully different from those of the girls that I have to teach. Much less ridiculous mooning over their looks and their image, and a rather interesting melody weaving throughout it all. If you would be willing, I would be interested in seeing if that melody could be mapped out and how it reacts to various stimulation, if it is an accurate gauge of your mental state or some kind of underlying psychological representation of your identity.” 

Tissaia’s sharp gaze was pinning him into place and he felt more and more like a bug about to be pinned out onto a slide to be examined. 

“Thank you for your help, Madame de Vries, but I can’t say that I am willing to make myself anyone’s experiment, especially not with ... not after what happened.” He couldn’t help the fine tremor running through his voice and hated the way he saw Yennefer’s eyes soften in response where she stood trapped between him and her former teacher. 

“Yes,” Tissaia mused quietly, “I can understand that. Very well, I shall simply have to find other ways to entertain myself, once I have managed to make this place habitable anyway. You seem like a man of refined tastes, how do you bear living in this ... unfortunate situation?” 

Jaskier couldn’t help the way he bristled at that, offended on the behalf of the witchers who had been so immobilised by their pain that they had been unable to move forward until recently. 

“I rather find that when one is living in a place filled with the ghosts of painful memories for ones host, it is rather impolite to come rampaging through like a shaelmar, enforcing change without taking the time to see whether it is wanted at all.” 

There was a moment of deafening silence when he thought he had gone too far. Yennefer looked at him in shock while Geralt’s hand tightened reflexively around him when Tissaia glared at him. Then, she laughed, lifting a hand to cover her mouth delicately as she did so. 

“I had thought there was some fire in you, dragon, and I am pleased to see that I was correct. You remind me of Yennefer, all fire and passion. Be careful not to burn yourself out, little one. The world will try to take it all from you, and you need to find the things that you are not willing to compromise on and fight for them.” 

She turned to give Yennefer a rather fond expression, not reacting to the shock on the raven haired mage’s face. “Yes, I can see why the three of you get along so well. Now, if you feel so strongly about this place, let us leave your protectors here and see what we can do. There is honouring the past and then there is allowing it to dictate the way that we view our futures, and this keep has become a monument to pain and suffering.” 

Jaskier turned to nod at Geralt, fighting the urge to scamper back against the witcher’s legs as soon as the arms released him. He forced himself to step towards Tissaia, pride blooming in his chest like a flower when she nodded at him approvingly before turning to walk down the hall. 

“And while we are working, you must tell me more about these witchers. I do admit, I am struggling to see how the songs that I have heard sung about the Continent have been created about men who seem to have such a disregard for their public image. The foppish idiots from several courts have been singing those ridiculous ballads and swooning over the idea of the heroism of witchers, a far cry from the tales of child stealing demons that have been prevalent for the last few centuries. However did you manage to change their minds so quickly?” 


	41. Your voice it carries over

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tissaia and Jaskier get a chance to talk.

Tissaia de Vries was a rather intriguing individual. As she had walked through the halls of Kaer Morhen with Jaskier padding along beside her, he noticed how rigidly she held herself. It fit well with her perfectly constructed dress that managed to look both simplistic in design while also being meticulously detailed and symmetrical, even if she did fidget with the sleeves and the high collar every few minutes as if it had somehow dared to move out of place. She even moved in perfectly even steps, everything about her so orderly and precise that Jaskier wondered just what she was trying so hard to keep contained. 

“You are rather quiet for a bard,” she said, her disinterested voice contradicting the sharp inquisitive look that she gave him. 

“Well, it has been a rather life changing few months. Besides, I am more interested in hearing about you then mindlessly chattering away. Yennefer hasn’t said too much about her time in Aretuza.” 

Tissaia chuckled at that, her lips twisting wryly. “I am sure she didn’t, and if she had, I am sure that most of it would have been less than complimentary. You know Yennefer well, don’t you Jaskier?” 

“Well, as much as you can ever know someone like Yennefer. We met quite a few years ago, when she helped me with a djinn curse.” 

That stopped Tissaia in her tracks. She tried to cover up the moment, turning to mutter something and watch as a section of wall filled in any cracks until it was perfectly uniform and whole rather than pitted with chips and cracks that let in the cold winter air. “Please tell me that she was not attempting to use the djinn to... Of course she was. That girl is going to get herself hurt if she does not learn to be more careful.” 

The woman’s voice was rather tightly controlled, and Jaskier thought that he could almost hear the fondness and worry in her words even as she tried to stifle it. Yennefer certainly inspired such depths of emotion, whether it was frustration or anger or laughter. 

“I would love to tell you that, I really would. From what I can gather, from what she’s said and from what Geralt has told me, there are some things in her life that she would like to change and she believed that a djinn was the way to achieve those goals. Not to worry, Geralt saved her from the djinn and I think she has started to find a new way to reach her goals now.” A small smile danced across his face as he thought of how Yennefer doted on Ciri all while trying to maintain her image as a badass witch who needed no one. 

“Hm, yes. I had seen how attached she was to the young girl. She has an incredible amount of power about her, that one, and will need lots of training. I should be very interested in seeing just what she is capable of. And the same goes for you as well.” She stopped, turning to look at Jaskier. 

“You have a significant amount of power, Jaskier, but it seems to be rather untrained. All other dragons that I have encountered have been much older than you and spoke of spending their youth in seclusion with their family. From what I can gather, you are not a blood relation of the other dragons here, so I am most intrigued to hear your story.” 

He looked at her warily, trying to decide how much of his story he was comfortable with her hearing and how much she would most likely find out for herself with those ridiculously sharp eyes of hers. She looked like the type that would never rest until she had unraveled any little mystery, much like himself, so there was no point in trying to keep things hidden from her unless it was worth facing down an aggravated mage. 

“Not much to tell that Yennefer probably hasn’t already said. I come from a rather ... unpleasant family that was a mite controlling. They were not too impressed with my less than draconid personality and abilities, so I left and became a bard, master of the seven liberal arts at that too. 

Then I travelled with Geralt, meeting up with Yennefer on occasion, before staying with Borch and his family for a while. That bastard brought me off of some traders who had spotted me out on my first individual flight, and that’s all there really is to it.” 

His voice was rather tighter than he would have liked, but that couldn't be helped. It wasn’t like there were many happy memories in that sordid tale for him to reminisce over; more like awful nightmares that kept him from sleeping some nights, but telling her that just seemed to be reinforcing the stereotypes of a dramatic bard that he knew some people pushed onto him. 

Tissaia’s eyes seemed to catalogue every move, every minute shift in tone, as he spoke and he could almost see her mind rapidly working through everything he had said and how he had said it before she spoke. 

“I can see that I have underestimated you yet again, Jaskier. From what Yennefer has said, I had expected you to give me an hour long recitation of your various experiences, but as usual with stories from Yennefer, I can see that there is much more than she or you would have me know. I will not pry, that would only make you distrustful and from what I can see you are not someone to be trifled with.” She gave him a small little smile, a glimpse of her true personality through the rigorous persona that she projected. However, I would be interested in working with” you to see the extent of your power, if you are amenable. I do have some experience with the matter, especially with those like you and Yennefer who seem to have a rather emotional connection to chaos compared to those like Triss who are much more methodical in their approach. Would you be willing to accompany me down to that courtyard that the men here use for their training and allow me to put you through some exercises that I feel may give us an indication as to the strength and breadth of your powers?” 

It only took him a moment to weigh up his options before nodding decisively. He wanted desperately to feel as if he had some measure of control over his magic rather than it controlling him, and anything that helped him to feel more powerful at this point would be more than welcome. While he had decided that facing Vilgefortz would most likely help him to face the constant fear he felt at the mere mention of the man and the nagging thought that he was most likely building the man up to be so much worse than he really was, anything that would help him feel less like the dragon in the cage that had been so broken and defeated was something he felt he should grab at. 

“I would love that, Tissaia. Thank you. I am sure that you have lots to do around here, testing Ciri’s magic, reconnecting with Triss and Yennefer, fixing up the keep like you have decided to do for some reason, and I appreciate you taking the time to help. I will warn you though, I have little to no idea what I am doing when it comes to magic. It just, it happens and I have no idea how or why.” 

With that, the two walked in companionable silence through the halls and out to the courtyard, Tissaia absentmindedly stopping to fix any imperfections in the walls as she went as if she couldn’t help herself. When she noticed Jaskier watching her, she pulled a wry face and kept walking, saying that she would explain it later. 

The courtyard was empty when they arrived, a few dummies left around from where the witchers had been training but plenty of room for the pair of them. Tissaia motioned Jaskier up onto a crate and had him recount all of his magical moments so far. He did so with a scowl, not liking the reminder of how his magic seemed to be taking over the one thing that he had worked so hard on. His music was meant to be him, gods damn it, and now he couldn’t play his lute or sing without feeling as if there were larger forces at work than the years he had spent training and learning at Oxenfurt. 

Tissaia nodded decisively, looking as unruffled as ever at his admission. That helped to settle something within him, quieting a fear he hadn’t even known was there under all of the other things sending him into a panic. 

“Voxomancy. A rather rare gift, but a rather useful one. I don’t know why you are all surprised by this, given your predilection for music. Your years at Oxenfurt should have helped you to gain a modicum of control over it, once you work on controlling the chaos itself. You may struggle with the basics for now, but I wager that you will be rather powerful and have quite fine control over it all. After all, you have been working on controlling your voice for years, so you have managed to master those skills and can now focus on how that affects your use of magic.” 

Shit. That made sense, even if voxomancy did sound like a made up word. Tissaia’s no-nonsense approach to it all was slowly filling him with confidence, and he could see in her the woman who raised mages for a living. She was much more intimidating than the professors he had studied under at Oxenfurt, which he assumed was probably good given that he hadn’t exactly been about to wield potentially dangerous forces in his history of music classes. 

“You can talk more with Yennefer about the necromancy that you seem to have been able to work. I know that despite warning her that such magics are forbidden by the Brotherhood and all of the dangers that they entail, she has spent a significant amount of time studying that particular field.” Tissaia let out a disproving little sniff at that and pulled at her sleeves. Jaskier knew better than to poke that sleeping bear. “You do seem to work quite well with mind magics though, particularly in projecting various emotions. We shall work on that today, and that should help to give you more control of your magic in general to apply to other fields.” 

Jaskier nodded at that, kneading at the crate under his claws in anticipation. It would be good to find some way to develop his skills, and mind magics sounded suitably terrifying to help him feel a bit less vulnerable. 

“Choose one of the songs you sing, something that conjures up a particular emotion that you would like to work with. We shall use what is familiar to you as a basis and then work from there once you have some modicum of control.” 

Jaskier nodded, quickly running through his usual rotation that he trotted out whenever he was in an inn and quickly finding it lacking. There were several that were not exactly the kinds of emotions that he would like to be projecting to Tissaia, and others that were just casual sing-alongs without much substance to them. There was always the historic poems that he had learnt to play in various courts, but those were about as emotionally rich as the crate beneath his claws. Then it came to him and he sighed, knowing that this was not going to be the best time but would most likely be a powerful enough song to practice with. 

“From the look in your eyes, I would say that you have found your song,” Tissaia said quietly. “Now, I want you to focus on the emotion in this song, how it makes you feel, the emotion in your heart and in your voice. Let it fill every part of your being, and then focus on letting all of it out. It should feel rather like a wave moving through you, but you need to let it rise and fall on its own terms rather than trying to force it. Take your time, magic is notoriously fussy the first few times you work with it.” 

  
  


Jaskier looked at her askance, wondering if she had taken into account the fact that he was a dragon and couldn’t exactly sing in the same way he did as a human. He could project it, telepathically, but did that count for this voxo-thingy she had said he used? He couldn’t remember what had happened when he had managed to use it before. 

He took a calming breath and started singing, his voice soft as he focused on the song and tried to tune out his audience. 

“ _ The fairer sex, they often call it, but her love's as unfair as a crook. It steals all my reason, commits every treason. _ ” 

He let himself get lost in the song, the memories of just after that scene on the mountain welling up inside him again. He had never performed this song, hell, he hadn’t had a chance. He had been working on it while he was with Borch in the mountains and then all of that drama with Vilgefortz had happened, and he just hadn’t had the chance. He didn’t know if he would ever perform it along with his usual songs. It seemed a bit too personal to him, a bit too obvious that someone, a very poorly concealed someone too, had broken his heart into tiny jagged pieces. While he had managed to work through most of the hurt to work on repairing the relationship with Geralt, knowing that the man had a stupid tendancy to try and push anything good in his life away, it was still hard to look at Geralt, particularly when he was with Yennefer and he could see just how perfect they were for each other. 

“Ah, I think that is more than sufficient for today.” Tissaia’s voice jolted him out of the music and he was surprised to see her eyes filled with tears as she picked fastidiously at a speck of dirt on the skirt of her dress. Shit, ok, so apparently it had been working then. He hadn’t really noticed, too caught up in the song and memories, but now that he stopped he could feel the warmth in his chest fighting against the cold of his thoughts. 

“Yes. Well. We shall adjourn for the night, but I want you to keep that in mind. You are far more powerful than you think, Jaskier, and I would hate to see you allow a worm like Vilgefortz to take that from you. Now, I believe that your sister and her friend had wanted you this evening, something about making Lambert pay for some comment that he made. Come.” 

  
With that, he walked side by side with Tissaia back into the keep, trying to keep that warmth in his chest alive, feeding it with the hope that he would be able to conquer this demon and help himself to move forward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The lyrics to the song Jaskier sings are the opening lines to Her Sweet Kiss from the Netflix show.


	42. The mutterings of all your fears

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier prepares to face Vilgefortz.

Jaskier had told himself a hundred times already that he would get through today, but he couldn’t make himself believe it. He had refused to eat anything that morning, ignoring the worried glances from Ciri and Saskia and the knowing ones from the others equally. The only thing that had stopped him vomiting up what little was in his stomach was the bowl of gods only knew what that Triss had quickly slipped on the table in front of him with a gentle smile. 

Today was the day he would face the man who haunted a good number of his nightmares alongside his mother, and Jaskier had never wanted to hide in a corner somewhere more.

“Jaskier, you don’t have to do this,” Geralt said in a voice that sounded like he had just been kicked under the table by Lambert, who was staring at his bowl of porridge like it was the most fascinating thing in the world. “No one would think any less of you for not going near him.” 

Jaskier swallowed against the rising nausea before nodding. Gods, he hoped he didn’t look as bad as he felt. “I know. I do. I just. I have to do this,” he said in a quiet voice, and that was all there was to it. 

Most of the table started talking about anything other than the man that they had in the dungeons below them, as if there was some chance that Jaskier would somehow forget all about it if they could just distract him, but Yennefer sighed and started muttering to him about all of the various protections and failsafes they had included in the cell. 

“Not to mention, you will be going down there with three mages who are none too shabby with their spells, as well as several witchers, Zerrikanian warriors, and Borch,” she said, gesturing around the table at everyone even as they tried to avoid her eye contact. “There is no way that spineless cockhair will be doing anything to you, not if he doesn’t want to see just how intestines would look as a new belt.” 

Sweet Melitele, sometimes he really loved this woman. He could see in her eyes how much she struggled with being reassuring, but there was that steadfast glint in her violet gaze that promised him that she would stand beside him no matter what. He had no idea how they had managed to go from snarling at each other jealously to this, but Jaskier was so glad that he had this woman in his life. 

Speaking of people that he was glad to have in his life, he could almost feel the weight of Geralt’s gaze as it remained focused on him as if the man expected Vilgefortz to try and snatch him from the table at any second. He knew that they needed to sit down and have a proper talk, resolve all of this tension between them and try and find a way back to the relationship they had had before or something new, but for now Geralt was one of the rocks on which he was relying and he had no idea how he would ever thank the man enough for it. Sure, the others were all there to support him, Borch in particular exuding an almost tangible level of fatherly concern which was reassuring in the extreme, but he hadn’t realised how much he relied on Geralt for that sense of normality. He had become so accustomed to letting the man protect him as they travelled around the Continent, too afraid of himself to let any trace of his own power escape, that having this single minded focus on his safety was like a warm blanket being wrapped around him. 

“Thanks, Yennefer. Knew I could count on you for the traumatising depictions of violence.” He flicked her a thankful glance, trying to get his voice to fall back into that teasing tone he had been able to wield like a weapon. She was polite enough not to call him on his shit, giving him a cheeky wink in response while she sipped at a glass of wine that he was sure it was far too early to be drinking. “It'll be fine. He can’t hurt me and I need to see that for myself before I can really believe it.” 

“You are certainly a rather extraordinary individual, Jaskier,” Tissaia said in her usual brusque manner. “Perhaps seeing you here, so clearly improved from what he had inflicted on you, will loosen his tongue. I am most intrigued as to what he thought he was doing with a dragon.” 

Yennefer and Triss both perked up at that, sharing a look that said they would most likely be running through their notes on the uses of dragons in magic later to try and figure out just what Vilgefortz was trying to do. It would have been almost adorable, how incredibly curious they both were despite having such different ways of pursuing that knowledge, if not for the fact they were talking about using parts of him and his family to fuel their magic. He knew that they would never do anything malicious to him, but they could sometimes let their curiosity run away from them and he knew he wasn’t exactly in the best of positions to fob off their approaches. 

Thankfully, Geralt started doing his usual impression of the cantankerous wolf that Jaskier had called him so many times and actual snarled t the two women, earning him a glare and smack on the back of the head from Vesemir as the man started clearing out some dishes. He heard Ciri and Saskia giggling at it, but the warmth in his chest at the gesture was something that Jaskier wanted to cherish in the moments where he doubted that the man cared for him at all. 

He only had to wait a few more moments before everyone started to push their bowls away from them and look at Jaskier as if trying to gauge his mental state. 

“Who’s looking after the girls?” Jaskier asked in a tight voice. 

“I’ll take them up to the library, run them through a few things to make sure that they are prepared for spring. Lambert, Coën, you two can give me a hand, help me make sure these girls have the skills to get by out there if they ever get separated from anyone.” Vesemir ruffled Ciri’s hair, ignoring her half hearted complaints. 

“Yes! Lambert, can you teach me how to do that knife trick you showed us before?” Saskia asked eagerly, scrambling over the table to him when he went to complain to his mentor. 

Lambert laughed. “Sure thing. We might have to find a way to modify it for claws, but I am sure that Vesemir would love to help with that.” The little look he flashed to Vesemir was filled with mischief and it only got brighter when the older man started grumbling under his breath as he started to gather the girls up and take them upstairs. Lambert sighed and followed them, only pausing to whisper something in Eskel’s air and clap him on the shoulder as he went. Coën ran a gentle hand along Jaskier’s spine as he went by, muttering his well wishes as he followed the girls. 

“There is no way in hell we all fit down in that corridor,” Yennefer said quietly, looking around the table as if to see who would be best to take with them. Geralt shot her a look that had her sighing and shaking her head at him in resignation. “Obviously, Geralt and I have already told Jaskier we will be with him.” 

“I am not letting my son face that thing alone,” Borch hissed, a flicker of flame escaping his mouth as he spoke. It was the most aggressive Jaskier though he had ever seen him, and that warmth in his chest was only growing even as panic tried to drown it out. 

“Of course,” Yennefer said, dipping her head in acknowledgement. “Perhaps the others observe from a distance. Triss, Tissaia, I am sure we can enchant a xenovox to give visuals as well as audio, then we can have you both monitor the situation from further down the hall. He might be more willing to speak if he feels as if isn’t completely overwhelmed with all of us. Everyone else can always wait in the hallway, close enough to offer help if needed but just out of view.” 

Everyone seemed fine with Yennefer’s plan, and after a few minutes of the three mages huddling over what looked to Jaskier like a rather plain bracelet apart from the large dark crystal hanging from it, the witchers and Zerrikanians adjusted their weapons while Borch ignore Jaskier’s protests and picked him up like he was much smaller than he was. 

He squirmed and fidgeted, digging his claws into Borch’s arms until the older dragon put him down on the floor and looked at him with eyes filled with protective concern. 

“I need to do this. I need to feel like I will never be as weak as he made me again. I want you there, but you need to let me do this my way.” 

Borch stared down at him for a moment before nodding tersely and looking away. “Of course, Jaskier. You are always so much stronger than I expect. I am so proud of you.” 

It was with the glow of those words warm in his chest that Jaskier followed behind Geralt and Yennefer as they led the way to the dungeons. The group moved in silence, each one seemingly wrapped up in their own thoughts. Jaskier was just hopeful that he could keep the feeling of having those that he loved so close to him when he could almost feel the memories of his time in that cage pressing against the edges of his mind. He would do this. He would confront Vilgefortz and refuse to allow him to become the monster he knew the man would be so pleased to be seen as. 

As they moved into the dungeons, Jaskier could hear the sounds of chains rattling and smacking into the walls. He jumped at a particularly loud clang, running into the back of Geralt’s legs in his fright. 

“He’s been trying this the entire time,” Eskel rumbled from behind them. “Seems to think that we would do a slipshod job at securing him and that he could somehow get out of here. Idiot. I suppose we should be lucky that his fat head fits in the cell. Well, we will wait here. Good luck with this, and try not to make a mess if you decide to eviscerate him.” 

Jaskier couldn’t help the nervous laughter that escaped him at that, and it gave him the courage to keep walking when Geralt took another step forward. As he moved closer to that cell, he steeled himself, trying to prepare for the sight of the man who starred in so many of his nightmares. 

He could see a dark shape in the cell, facing away from them and swinging his arms forward repeatedly to slam the shackles against the care rockface, cringing at each impact as Jaskier could only assume the dimeritium sent waves of agony through him. He turned at the sound of their footsteps. Vilgefortz’s face was twisted in agony and anger, madness twinkling in his dark eyes, but as he saw Jaskier standing behind Geralt and Yennefer’s black clad legs his expression quickly morphed into one of demented delight. 

“Ah, my little pet. You have come back for more testing then. We shall finally find a use for your worthless hide after all.” 


	43. Our shadows that are bold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier has a little meeting with Vilgefortz.

Jaskier could feel knives slicing under his skin to peel scales from him, needles being stuck deep in his flesh to extract blood, and the burning pain of that collar encircling his neck ever tighter. He could see in Vilgefortz’s eyes that the man knew exactly how he was affecting him. There was a glimmer of pride, of cunning, that had Jaskier more determined than ever to push past this. Anger had him wanting to deny the man anything, to make him feel even a tenth of the helplessness that he had been left to wallow in for far too long. 

“Come closer, pet. You certainly look much healthier. I am sure any samples that I extract from you will be much more viable now; you were producing rather disappointing results before all of this. Not to worry, we shall find a new place to conduct our experiments and all shall be as it was before. This lot of pathetic vagabonds and hedge witches will only be a minor bump in the road for my work.” 

The mage’s voice still had that charming, cultured edge, but now it was undercut with a current of madness. He had been slowly creeping forward as he spoke, until he was clutching the bars and pressing his face against them. His usual winning smile was terrifying framed by the bars, but he acted as if he were standing in the lap of luxury. 

Geralt snarled at the man, baring his teeth, and Jaskier could feel the crackle in the air around Yennefer building more and more at each word. Borch was emitting a low, deep rumble. Vilgefortz didn’t seem to notice any of them, too busy staring at Jaskier with covetous eyes. It made Jaskier’s skin crawl, to see the man looking at him like some prized trophy. He managed to force himself forward a few steps, holding himself rigid to combat the need to go dashing back up the hallway and under the closest bed. 

  
“I... I...” Jaskier stuttered. He could feel the others giving him the space to lead this, to say what he needed and handle this situation as he saw fit, but his throat felt like it was being crushed by that gods damned collar. 

“Oh, pet. How pathetic. All you really are good for is those experiments. Stop pretending and come here, so that we can continue my work.” 

That had Jaskier hissing, a fine shower of sparks falling against the bars of the cell in his anger. “I am not fucking pathetic! You are! You and those sick fucking experiments of yours.” 

Vilgefortz started slamming against the bars, the madness in his eyes growing more and more until he looked like little more than the animal he seemed to think Jaskier was. 

“You are a fucking worthless animal. How dare you speak to me like this! I give your existence meaning, give you purpose. You have no idea what you are standing in the way of here, you stupid lizard!” 

Jaskier couldn’t help the way he instinctively skittered back a few steps, trying to escape the spittle flying from the usual charismatic man’s mouth. He backed into what he assumed were Geralt’s legs, stilling at the reassuring pressure against his back. He managed to steel himself again, pause the panic that kept trying to creep through his mind and look at the man behind the bars. 

“And if out of academic curiosity we asked you exactly what those experiments were, would you be willing to answer, or are you going to keep raving like a mad dog?” Yennefer asked in that silky venomous tone that made Jaskier glad that she was not directing it to him. 

Vilgefortz turned that crazed gaze onto Yennefer, his mouth twisting as if he had tasted something sour. “Like a piddling little runt like you could ever hope to accomplish even a tenth of what I have been working on, girl. You and that ridiculous little finishing school for fancy bitches have no idea of the power that is out there. We let you play pretend, let you think you are helping the rest of us, but we all know you lot think with what’s between your legs. All you’re good for is keeping those horny bastard kings too busy chasing you so that the rest of us can accomplish work that is actually meaningful.” 

Jaskier could feel the rising fury in Yennefer as the other mage kept speaking and twined his tail around her ankle in an attempt to calm her as well as to give himself one more thing to cling to. The crackle of magic that he could feel emanating from her was soothing, something he had never thought he would feel in the presence of magic like this. 

“It’s too bad, really,” Yennefer hissed. He glanced up to see her face covered by that beautifully poised mask that she used when she was severely pissed. “A renowned mage like you, captured by a bunch of, what was it? Fancy bitches? How upsetting for you. I am sure that it will turn some heads when the rest of your little boys club hears all about it, and how you failed to make any progress in your studies. I am sure they will all be so quick to reassure the rest of the Continent that you were nothing more than a little upstart, that all those years fighting like a mere human have left you a weak coward too afraid to attempt any real magic. I have to say, I am looking forward to seeing them all trip over themselves to denounce you, to call you the pathetic worm that we all know you are.” 

There was a small rumbling chuckle from Geralt, clearly enjoying watching Yennefer’s venom have a different target than him for once. Jaskier could appreciate that, she was rather magnificent in her fury as she strode forward towards the cell as if she were walking into a ballroom, looking perfectly poised and beautiful while she glared at Vilgefortz like the worm she had called him. He clung to her ankle as long as he could until she stepped out of his reach, then was unable to stop the way he pressed back into Geralt’s legs. Together, the pair of them watched her with pride as she unleashed her claws on the man who had hurt Jaskier so much. 

“Like you would know. Yennefer of Vengerberg, the biggest fuck up to come out of that shitty little school. You’re an uncontrollable menace, girl, and the Brotherhood knows it. They saw that trick at Sodden, the fire and your fall, and they were not impressed. You think that you could ever reach the same heights as me? That you could ever have the same power as me? I had you and that bitch you call a Rectoress eating out of the palm of my hand and none of you knew a fucking thing. You all followed me into a fight you could never win like good little dogs and did your part in weakening the northern mages. You will never understand what it is that I do, the knowledge that I was discovering, all with this pathetic little lizard here. The secrets he has in his skin, in his blood.” Vilgefortz’s anger flickered straight back into that twisted desire as his eyes dipped to stare at Jaskier again. “I can find the secrets to eternal life, to unlimited power. I could find ways to gain power over all of those pitiful little ants, make them squirm like the insects they are. That arrogant bastard var Emreis thinks that he has me like a fucking dog on a leash, but I’m the one pulling that ridiculous fucking idiots strings.” 

He seemed utterly deranged by this point, raving and pulling at the bars like he thought that he could pull them apart and lunge from the cage at any moment. 

It had a strange effect on Jaskier. On the one hand, he could feel the terror running through him, the knowledge that this was the man who had inflicted pain and terror on him as if he had no mind of his own, but the man seemed somehow less threatening here. It was as if Jaskier could see him falling apart before his eyes, that cold and calculating veneer slipping just enough for Jaskier to see the man behind the unfailable mask that he had worn so confidently. 

“He’s just a man,” he muttered under his breath, his voice disbelieving even to his ears. “He’s just a man.” 

Geralt made an inquisitive rumbling noise, reaching down to touch the top of his head gently. “Are you alright?” he said in a voice that only just reached Jaskier’s ears. 

“I’m fine,” he replied, sounding awestruck still. He turned, looking up at Geralt and Borch where they both watched him in concern. A small, hysterical part of him was amazed that Borch had managed to stop smoke from billowing from his nostrils with such a look of hatred on his face whenever he darted a look up to the man in the cell, but he supposed that would have given Vilgefortz too much information about what they both were. 

“I just, he was this monster and now. Yennefer is scarier than him.” 

He saw them all pause for a moment as if taking that in, before chaos erupted. 

Geralt’s shoulders were pinched in tight in a way he had learnt to recognise as the man trying to hold back laughter, while Borch was openly chuckling at his son in a bemused manner. He turned to see Yennefer smiling archly at him, pleasure evident in every line of her body. Vilgefortz was really raving now, throwing himself bodily against the bars and screaming threats at Jaskier, promising to skin him alive and find a way to keep him conscious throughout it all, just to repeat the process as soon as he healed. 

“Hear that, Vilgefortz. You’re not even as scary as I am. How upsetting.” Yennefer turned that smug smile back on the sorcerer, relishing the moment. He knew that she would be bragging about this to Triss and Tissaia later. “You thought that you would be able to intimidate a dragon. You, you over blown, self important asshole. You have no real power, especially not here. You have lost.” 

With that, she stepped back towards Jaskier, reaching down to pat his head next to where Geralt continued to keep contact with him. “Well, little dragon. You certainly know how to make a scene. Anything else you want to get off your chest, or have we pushed it far enough for today? We do have a captive audience, so if you want to come back and gloat at any time, you just let me know. I know I would be waxing poetic about just how pathetic he is if I was you.” 

Jaskier couldn’t stop a startled laugh at that, nosing up into her hand in thanks. “Um, it might be time to leave. I, well, I need to think about this, about what to do next.”

Borch cleared his throat behind them. “That sounds like a sensible idea. I am sure that we have plenty to discuss, and I believe that there are some lovely women upstairs who will have our heads if we do not give them the chance to join this conversation.” 

“And other idiots who will want to add their two coppers as well,” Geralt said roughly, stepping back and then making that same choked noise that was his version of a laugh when Jaskier moved back to maintain the contact. While he was feeling like this little venture had been largely successful, he was not willing to separate from the thing that was giving him the most comfort at this point. He would rather not end up running screaming up the stairs, and if this is what it took to maintain as much decorum as he could, well, no one here would be laughing at him for too long. 

“Fine then,” Yennefer pouted, her flair for drama in full display as she seemed to revel in tormenting Vilgefortz with his captivity. “Everyone say bye bye to the naughty sorcerer. I’ll be back to play later, Vilgefortz darling, don’t you worry. I may even bring more of those bitches from Aretuza. I am sure you would love to play some games with you. We can show you just what we learnt at our finishing school.” 

With another catty smile, she ushered the rest of them back up the staircase, nearly skipping like a gleeful child. “Well, I think that went well, didn’t it?” 


	44. The latest and greatest lame campaign

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier needs a distraction.

Jaskier didn’t know what to do with all of the adrenaline pouring through his veins. He simultaneously felt like flying laps around the keep crowing about just how brave he had been today and finding somewhere to curl up and hide. It was disconcerting and exhausting and he wanted nothing more than for today to be over. 

“So,” Yennefer drawled from where she had draped herself over a chair. Triss and Tissaia were pouring over various tomes beside her while Geralt was the only witcher who had managed to last this long in the presence of the mages on a mission. The rest of Jaskier’s family had also disappeared, Borch clearly needing to find a way to work off some of his anger where Jaskier would never hear about it. “What was all that about, mister small and mighty?” 

“Yennefer!” Jaskier whined. He flicked at her leg with his tail, holding the rest of him as still as possible while he felt like he was about to fly apart with all of the energy coursing through him. 

“What? I wasn’t exactly expecting that level of, well, of sass from you. You were scared shitless, Jaskier, not that I am in any way criticising you for that, but you managed to rip that asshole down to size easily enough. I had thought you would be a little more skittish, but apparently not. You really told him what you thought of him. I’m proud of you.” 

That had Jaskier moving, just enough to nip at the skin of her ankle where her foot lolled in the air, but enough for her to laugh and wave her hand, picking him up with magic and depositing him beside her so that she could lazily pat at his head and find the spot behind his ears that had him melting into a boneless pile of scales. 

“Yes, yes, very frightening. You are truly a menace, oh scaly one.” He could hear Triss giggling at her expense while Tissaia tutted them fondly, but he was far too focused on Yennefer to pay them much heed. 

He managed to squirm out from under her hands, moving to glare at her in annoyance. “Well, I am so glad that I managed to amuse you. That really is my mission in life. I can die happy now knowing that I have made Yennefer of Vengerberg pleased by the way I reacted to the man who kept me captive for gods know how long. For fucks sake, Yennefer, what do you want from me?” 

He couldn’t help the little flickers of flames that were slipping out of his mouth as he spoke, too caught up in his emotions now. He could feel his tail lashing behind him until Tissaia caught hold of it and gave him a disapproving look. Jaksier couldn’t very well spit flames that the woman, she would murder him if he did, so he was forced to swallow them back down and direct his energy to pacing back and forth across the room. He could feel Geralt’s eyes on him from where he lurked in the corner, but he was refusing to look at him. 

Yennefer smirked at him, ignoring the way he snapped his jaws at her in aggravation. “Well, darling. I was rather trying to get you out of the little funk you had gotten yourself into. Catatonic Jaskier is not fun at all, so rather than you sulking about all night and working yourself up, let’s do something fun. Geralt, entertain us!” 

He could hear the rumbling growl coming from Geralt in the corner, but Yennefer just wriggled her fingers at him in a little wave and grinned, looking like the princess she thought she was. Jaskier didn’t know if he wanted to be in the middle of whatever was about to happen between those two, but he also didn’t exactly want to leave them alone. It wasn’t that he was jealous or anything, not that he would ever say anyway, but perhaps they needed someone to make sure that they didn’t kill each other with one of the arguments they always seemed to get into. 

“Really, Yennefer? Can’t you think of things to do on your own?” Geralt’s grumpy voice was rather fond, and he could see on Yennefer’s face that she was enjoying playing with him. “I would have thought that after all this time you would at least figure out how to keep yourself busy for one night.” 

“Oh come on. What use is having a witcher around if he can’t even come up with something ridiculously dangerous and stupid to do? I thought that was all you spent your time doing?” 

“Wrong witcher, Yennefer,” Jaskier said quietly. “That sounds much more Lambert and Coën’s speed. I’m sure those two would love to come up with something. I know that Lambert loves drinking in increasingly dangerous places, I’m sure the pair of you would get along like a house on fire.” 

Yennefer sneered at him before sighing and standing, wandering slowly over to lean on Geralt and peer up at him through her lashes. 

“The little dragon thinks he’s smart, Geralt. I shouldn’t be surprised, should I? He always has been a little shit. Come on, entertain us. I want to do something and you know I always get what I want.” 

Geralt sent Jaskier a wry look before gently pushing Yennefer off of him. “Fine. Fine. Heaven forbid I should have to get you to spend one more moment in abject boredom. Let’s go grab the girls, we can take them out into the snow and team up. Best fort wins, no magic.” 

Jaskier looked at him in shock. “You know how to make snow forts? You, Mister stick in the mud witcher who doesn’t do anything fun and pretends he has no feelings? Are you feeling ok, Geralt? Not running a temperature or feeling dizzy?” 

“It’s a good training exercise,” Geralt said quietly, his face looking slightly more flushed than usual which was clearly witcher code for him being beet red with embarrassment. “Helps remind you to look at the lay of the land and defensive positions.” 

Jaskier decided to take pity on the man. He grinned and moved to push his weight against Yennefer’s legs. “It sounds fantastic. Why don’t we go get the girls and see what we can do. We can even do girls against boys. I’m sure Geralt and I can show you up if you’re not allowed any magic.” 

“If you two think that you can win against me, you have another thing coming. Don’t you even dare come with me, I’ll fetch the girls and we can start planning. I’ll meet you down in the main courtyard as soon as I get them.” 

With that, Yennefer was sailing out the door, yelling for the girls in a voice that travelled far more than it should have without the aid of magic. Jaskier turned to see Triss in peals of laughter while Tissaia shook her head fondly, the ghost of a smile dancing around her lips. 

“Good luck with that,” Tissaia said. “Yennefer has always been far too determined to accept defeat at anything. I tried my best to teach her that sometimes we can’t always win, but I find I am still trying.” 

Geralt and Jaskier shared a companionable look, clearly saying to each other  _ well good luck with trying to teach Yennefer anything, that woman is a force of nature _ . Both of them had more than enough experience with Yennefer being far too stubborn for her own good but often for the good of others. Behind all that sass and stubborn attitude, Yennefer had one of the biggest hearts that Jaskier had ever seen and he was so pleased and confused that she had decided that the pair of them should be good friends. 

They slowly made their way down to the courtyard, the silence between them comfortable and reassuring after the day that Jaskier had just had. He was more than happy to spend time with Geralt like this, with no pressure apart from Yennefer’s latest amusement and then sense that it was just the two of them against the world. Jaskier had missed this, missed the easy friendship that had been the reason he had followed the witcher for so many years and one of the reasons he had started falling for the man before he could warn himself that this would never end well. 

They passed by a room where Eskel, Lambert, and Coën seemed to be drunk beyond belief and being read the riot act by Vesemir, possibly because Lambert seemed to be dressed up in some bizarre hat that Jaskier had no idea where he had found it. Neither of them were brave enough to go near that room, hurrying quickly down the hallway until they were out in the courtyard, snow gently falling around them to add to the thick coat of snow that had been falling for days now. He hadn’t noticed just how quickly it had been falling the last few days as the balmy winter seemed to give way to some seriously cold weather, but he supposed the mountains around them created a rather unique microclimate and gods he was sounding more and more like some of the professors he had mocked in Oxenfurt everyday. 

“So, do we have a plan, or is this just going to be unbridled chaos?” Jaskier asked cheekily, trying to resist the impulse to start trying to catch snowflakes in his claws. He would never live it down if Geralt caught him doing that, even if he had seen the man absolutely transfixed as he watched a moth circle their campfire one night. His excuse had been that he was tired and couldn’t ease his hypervigilance after a particularly grueling hunt, but Jaskier knew better. Geralt was far more adorable and ruled by his instincts than he liked to let on. 

Geralt grunted at him, studying the courtyard like it was a battlefield he was determined to win. “Keep the wall to our backs, build a solid wall and then put various towers behind it, give us space to stand and crouch while optimising defenses. Might need to build some raised platforms for you, or see if we can get some strategic holes lower in the wall without compromising it’s integrity.” 

“Wow,” Jaskier said, his voice slightly hollow with shock. “I don’t know why I didn’t expect this, but it is just a snow fort, Geralt. We aren’t expecting to be invaded by Nilfgaard or anything.” 

“No, it’s worse. It’s Yennefer and Ciri.” Geralt sent him a small smile, barely a twitch of his lips, but Jaskier knew this man like the back of his hand. “Those two are like harpies when they get together like this, and I assume your sister will be the same. I’ve seen Yennefer talking to Ciri about how wearing a dress can be much better than the witcher’s gear she was dressed in because it would allow her to hide so many more knives on her. If those two can destroy us, you know they will.”

Jaskier took a moment to think about that before nodding. All three of them were terrifying and he had little doubt that they would throw themselves body and soul into these snow forts, especially with Jaskier and Geralt as the targets. Saskia would love to show off to the others by trying to attack him at every moment, and he knew that Ciri would be just as bad about trying to beat Geralt. Yennefer would just revel in the chaos, as she always did, and he knew that she would get a kick out of kicking both their asses. 

“Well then, I must say, it has been an honour fighting by your side. I somehow doubt that we will be coming out of this fight alive.” 

That startled a snort out of Geralt before the man snapped him a little salute. “See you on the other side,” he said in a quiet voice as they heard Ciri and Saskia come thundering out into the courtyard, Yennefer strolling along behind them with an evil little smirk on her face. 

“Alright girls, let’s show these two just what happens when you cross us.” 

“Well fuck,” Jaskier said. “It was nice knowing you.” 


	45. Hand in hand from the wreck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of the snow fort fight.

Jaskier was just glad that he could still feel all his limbs by the time they went back into the keep. After being pummeled with snow from several different directions by what he was sure were demons, he was tired, cold, and sore from laughing so hard. Geralt didn’t look much better, as much as he tried to keep up that tough guy persona. 

It didn’t help that the three girls were gloating. Yennefer was proudly ushering her charges back into the keep, promising them all sorts of treats for doing so well, while Ciri and Saskia were already rehearsing how they would tell all of the others about their fight with no little amount of embellishment. He supposed he should be proud of them. They could almost be bards with how far they had managed to get from the truth in search of the perfect story. 

“How the hell did we get beaten so hard by two little girls and a woman who spent most of the time worrying about breaking a nail? I thought we were better than this, you know, after all of that travelling the Continent and you killing monsters while I follow around behind you being generally amazing.” 

Geralt huffed, pushing back when Jaskier stumbled into his legs for a second. “I have no idea. Maybe we taught Ciri too well, and now she’s teaching Saskia. Yennefer is just...” He scowled and Jaskier could get behind that idea. The woman was insane. 

“We can never let the others know we tried. Just tell them that we thought it would be mean to really try against them so we let them beat us. Like a morale boost or something.” 

The disbelieving look he got from Geralt more than answered that question. Yeah, the others would not believe that at all. He sighed and kept walking in with him, ready to face the absolute ridicule he knew was waiting for them. 

“You got your asses handed to you by children!” Lambert crowed as soon as they walked into the hall. Everyone was there, sitting at the table with their evening meal while Ciri and Saskia seemed to be halfway through a reenactment of their afternoon. 

Geralt just grunted and sneered at them all, lifting Jaskier up so that he could sit on the bench next to him before dragging plates over and starting to pile food onto them. Jaskier did little more than nudge his head against him in thanks before starting to eat. He supposed that was most likely the reason Yennefer had wanted them to do something. He had no energy to be nervous or worried about what had happened today after having spent hours running around in the snow after the terrible trio. 

“Like you would be able to do any better, Lambert,” Yennefer interjected, raising her head from where she had been muttering with Triss while Tissaia watched over them and reorganised anything on the table in front of her into precise lines. “If you think you can take us, I am sure the girls would be more than happy to assist me in kicking your ass for you.” 

Lambert pulled a face at her and was promptly elbowed in the side by Coën, who seemed to be playing the role of Lambert’s good sense today. Jaskier in no way pitied the man. If Lambert wanted to pick a fight with Yennefer, Jaskier was sure as hell not getting in the middle of it. 

“Children, behave yourselves. We do have rather serious matters to discuss today,” Vesemir said, shooting Lambert a rather impatient look. When they all subsided and the only noise in the room was the scraping of cutlery against plates, something that Jaskier was interested to see was apparently a shared predilection amongst the sorceresses instead of using their hands and a knife like everyone else did, Vesemir cleared his throat. 

“What do we plan to do with the mage? We can only keep him in the dungeons for so long, especially if you are expecting us to continue feeding him as we move deeper into winter. Hunting is going to get scarce, and there is already a larger number of people in the keep than we usually provision it for now.” 

Jaskier could feel the weight of the memories starting to push down on Vesemir, the times when Kaer Morhen would have been filled with witchers who would be bringing supplies and hunting enough to keep them all happy and hale throughout the winters. He instinctively let out a short trill, focusing on that feeling of warmth that Tissaia had encouraged him to use to sense his magic. Everyone apart from the sorceresses gave him a confused look, clearly wondering what he was doing, but he could feel that repressive weight lifting gently.

“Well done. You are coming along quite nicely with your magic, and seem to have a rather intuitive grasp as to how to use it for the betterment of others. Perhaps an empathetic focus will allow you to perfect your control faster? I shall consider the matter and how best to train your skills at a later date. For now, if you are concerned about resources, I would be more than happy to portal to a large town and procure some more. In fact, I was rather planning on it, if only to gain some ... variety.”

Tissaia sent what he was sure was her version of a winning smile to Vesemir, ignoring the rather sour look on his face at the implication that Kaer Morhen was in any way lacking. “We require more time with Vilgefortz. He was conducting experiments that present a danger not just to Jaskier and his family, but potentially to all of us. If we are able to ascertain what he thought he would be able to accomplish in more specific terms and the manner in which he went about trying to achieve it, then we will be better able to protect ourselves and others. However, he is rather reluctant to share his work with us. I am sure that given enough time, I would be able to reduce him to little more than a gibbering idiot from which I could extract what I wanted, but that would take a rather extended period of time. I suggest that we continue to train Jaskier, while also continuing to interrogate him. I believe that Jaskier may be able to influence Vilgefortz into revealing his secrets, if he is willing to subject himself to time in the man’s presence.” 

Gods. Jaskier did not really want to agree to anything more today, not after seeing how exhausting it had been just seeing the man again, but he felt he didn’t really have a choice. The idea that someone could try to do this again, to Saskia or another dragon young enough to be vulnerable to a mage, was enough to make him sick. He would have to do it, for their sake at least. He would not be able to live with himself if he found out that others had been hurt because he was unable to go through with this. 

That wasn’t to say he wasn’t apprehensive about learning to use his magic in such a way. He didn’t much like the idea of being able to manipulate someone’s mind in such an intrusive way, as useful as it might seem. It seemed like one more way he was being removed from the man he had tried to be for so long, the ordinary bard who could only use his words and his voice to influence others, rather than some magic that would give him an unfair advantage. He would have to talk to Yennefer later, find out how she kept herself, well human for want of a better word, when it seemed like everyone else on the Continent was becoming more and more removed from him. 

“Ah, yes. I can, I can do that. I might need a while to get a bit more of a handle on it, and some willing volunteers so that I can practice, but I trust your judgement, Tissaia. If you think that I can learn to do that, I will. We have to keep the others safe.”

The pride on Yennefer’s face was almost as reassuring as the worry on Geralt’s. Knowing that she believed in him and that Geralt would be there to help him if he struggled made him think that he must be one of the luckiest people on the Continent. If he could only find some time to get Geralt alone somewhere so that they could hash it all out and resolve the lingering tension between them, Jaskier felt like he would be able to do anything he set his mind to. 

“Saskia and I will accompany you in those lessons,” Borch said, sounding rather more fatherly than usual. Jaskier supposed that having his adopted son learning how to manipulate mind was most like a good cause for him to be feeling rather paternally concerned, but he still wasn’t quite used to it and every time he heard that tone in his father’s voice it seemed to knock him slightly off balance. “Perhaps she will develop a similar aptitude, although I doubt it, but there may also be some things that I can contribute that should help with your control. Family secrets and all.” 

Tissaia’s rather regal looking nod had Jaskier smothering a laugh. Like she would be able to stop his family from being there if they had wanted to. He wouldn’t be surprised if it turned into a rather grand event, with the witchers wanting to watch as well. As the table lapsed into quiet chatter as people ate, he could see several considering glances being thrown his way by the witchers and the Zerrikanian women and knew that they would be there too, finding ways to be a part of this whether they were invited or not.

It was a rather different experience than what Jaskier was used to, having people who wanted to be involved in every aspect of his life. It certainly wasn’t an unwelcome one, even if he worried about feeling smothered or trapped. He had never had people who cared this much about him before, and in typical Jaskier fashion, he was going to throw himself head first into it and cling to it for all he was worth. He would probably find some way to fuck it all up, but a family like this seemed to be one that would forgive his faults rather than punish him for them. Maybe together, they could find a way to make something that would help them all to feel a little more secure in their own identity and as if they had a place where they could be themselves without fear. 

Later that night, as Jaskier was curled up on the bed next to Ciri and Saskia, he finally had a moment to himself to think, even if it was with the background noise of their snores and the quiet murmuring of Téa and Véa in the room next door. It wasn’t that he hadn’t appreciated the way that everyone tried to keep him busy enough that he wouldn’t be sucked back into the fear that he could feel waiting for him at the corners of his mind, but he needed just a moment to himself, to recognise just what he had done. 

He had managed to come face to face with the man who had brought him low and he hadn’t broken. He had stared into the eyes that featured in most of his nightmares and been able to walk away from the encounter as himself, not the pet that Vilgefortz wanted him to be. Only a few weeks ago, he would never have even dared to dream that he would be able to do something like that, let alone sass the man to his face. 

Sweet Melitele, he had really said that the man was not as scary as Yennefer! Was he insane? He must have been spending too much time with the witchers, the gods only knew that none of them were exactly careful with their own hides. They rather preferred racing into situations and then trying to figure out how to salvage it instead of thinking things through in advance. 

Hopefully this newfound courage could last him through the weeks ahead. He was determined not to let the others down, to play his part in discovering what Vilgefortz had been plotting, even if it meant putting himself through whatever torutre Tissaia and Borch would devise in the name of teaching him to control his magic. 

He snuggled down amongst the sheets, thinking to himself that he would most likely have to find somewhere new to sleep soon. He was starting to get far too big to curl up around his sister on a bed that also had Ciri on it. And besides, hopefully he would be able to shift back into his usual self soon. He was rather missing having fingers, and he was dying to play his lute, wherever Borch had hidden it. That would be the first thing he asked them to focus on teaching him, how to be human shaped again. Then he could talk to Geralt as himself, as the human man who had travelled with him for decades, rather than the dragon who in terms of their lifespan was still just a child. 


	46. As you stare right back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier tries to practice his magic.

“Try harder, Jaskier. You can make a witcher cry, come on.” 

Jaskier wanted to bare his teeth at Tissaia in anger, but he was too busy putting everything he had into singing  _ Her Sweet Kiss _ and focusing that warm feeling in his chest towards Coën where he was looking only slightly miserable. Yennefer and Geralt had both heard the first few bars of the song and swiftly disappeared back into the keep, leaving him with an audience of two mages, four witchers, two dragons, two Zerrikanians, and a witcheress/princess. All in all, not really something that Jaskier wanted to be doing with his morning, but he didn’t think he had much choice in the matter. 

“Coën does look sad, Madam de Vries, and I don’t really think a witcher can actually cry. Jaskier can sing me a song and we can see if I cry, I don’t mind.” Ciri was taking a break from darting around the room like some kind of deranged butterfly and was not clearly wanting to be entertained. There was no way she would willingly leave when there was clearly something important happening, but he supposed that this probably wasn’t the best spectator event for a young girl. 

Tissaia pursed her lips at the girl before nodding. “Cirilla has a point. Your mutagens may be inhibiting the expression of emotion, meaning that Jaskier is not getting an accurate read as to the strength of his song. Ladies,” here she turned to Téa and Véa. “Would you be willing to oblige? The rest of us all have our own magical abilities that may taint the experiment.” 

Ciri frowned at that and flounced off to stand beside Saskia, whispering into her ear about how unfair it all was as if half of the room didn’t have enhanced hearing. The two warrior women nodded and stepped forward, Véa pulling a slight face at Jaskier. 

“Of course. We are always willing to help with Julian’s training. It would be nice if he chose a slightly happier song but,” Véa trailed off with a shrug. Two two women laughed when Jaskier snorted a fine shower of sparks at them in punishment for their sass, but he supposed he couldn’t complain. Anyone willing to allow him to make them as heartbroken as he had been when he wrote that song was willing to give him at least a little shit. 

“Good. Now, Jaskier, while you are using the words of the song to guide the magic, most of it should be done through your intentions. The tune you were singing to go alongside it seemed to help as well, so it may be that spoken sounds work better than your telepathic singing. We can work on strengthening them both later, after all it would be rather handy if you were for some reason unable to speak, but for now we want to focus on the vocalisation. If you can do it wordlessly, there is a much lower chance of Vilgefortz being able to do anything to protect himself.” 

Jaskier took several deep breaths before starting to sing again. He tried to follow Tissaia’s advice, focusing on the eerie wail that was building in his throat in a rather counterpoint to the song. It seemed to be working, the heat in his chest seeming to expand and move into his neck as he sang until he could see the eyes of both women welling up and their lips quivering even as they tried to maintain their usual stoic expressions. 

“Good, good,” Tissaia said, pulling at her sleeves absentmindedly. “Now, let’s try working without the framework of a more traditional song.” 

Jaskier sighed, feeling more exhausted than he would have expected from a morning of singing. Usually he could sing for hours before he would feel this level of fatigue, but he supposed the magic must be taking a toll on him. Borch stepped forward as if he were about to protest, but Jaskier waved him off with a tired flick of his tail. As much as he would love a break, he needed to feel like he was doing everything he could to make himself stronger. His realisation that Vilgefortz was not some all powerful monster had not stopped the nightmares of being back in that cage. 

“Find a tune that is comfortable, then I want you to pull up that feeling, feel your magic coursing through you. This time, rather than pushing your emotions outward, I want you to focus on making someone do a specific action. I will leave it up to your discretion, but choose someone here and see if you can make them do something noticeable out of the ordinary.” 

Readying himself, Jaskier closed his eyes and focused. It was easy enough to let his voice escape him, running through some of the scales that he had learnt at Oxenfurt and barely suppressing a grin when he was able to hit notes he had only dreamed of before with his draconid vocal chords. He would have to experiment with that later when there was not a rather prissy school teacher standing over him looking like she could start issuing punishments at any moment if he was not able to perform to her exacting standards. 

With another deep inhale, he turned his focus to Lambert, a mental image of him grabbing Eskel and twirling him in his arms like a fair maiden from one of his songs making him suppress a laugh lest it interrupted his singing. He could see Lambert squinting at him suspiciously, clearly realising that he had been singled out as the new experiment subject, but Jaskier focused on that image, trying to will it into existence. 

It took a few moments of being stared at, enough for Jaskier to start to feel self conscious ,before Lambert turned with stiff movements to Eskel and grabbed him in a bear hug. 

“Jaskier, the fuck are you doing?” he huffed out, clearly fighting against it even as he began to slowly turn, yanking Eskel along with him, much to the other witcher’s disgust. Everyone else dissolved into peals of laughter as Eskel swore and tried to break free of his brother’s grip, while Lambert dragged him around a few times before Jaskier let the song fade with a final dramatic flourish and a bow. 

“Oh, you are so dead, scale boy. You better fucking run,” Lambert said, his voice filled with suppressed laughter. Jaskier squeaked and took off, a running start laughing him into the air so that he could fly back into the keep in the hopes of losing the witcher in the hallways of the keep. 

He could hear Lambert laughing as he followed him inside, the sound much more carefree than anything he thought he had heard from the man before. He seemed so much more settled recently, like he had finally come into his own after so long grieving for all that had been taken from him. If a man like Lambert could learn to find joy in life again, then surely Jaskier would be able to as well.

Jaskier managed to lose the witcher in the narrow hallways, not that he thought he would have escaped if Lambert had really been after him. When he found himself darting into a room only to be greeted by Geralt and Yennefer’s rather solemn faces while Lambert cackled in the background, he knew that the asshole had most likely planned this. 

“Well, this is awkward,” he said, his tail flicking behind him nervously. “I should, um, I think I hear Saskia calling my name and I left my ...” 

“Cat on your stove?” Yennefer supplied, her grin gaining that rather vicious edge to it that he had come to know and dread. 

“Hm, yes, haha, good times and all. I, ah, don’t want to intrude on any important conversations so I will just be going and finding somewhere else to hide from the taskmasters from hell. So, ah, bye then.” 

He hadn’t even made it out the door when a growled “Jaskier” had him skittering back inside, trying not to look like the pathetic little puppy that came running whenever it was called. 

“We need to talk,” Geralt ground out, looking pained. From the rather satisfied smirk on Yennefer’s face, he guessed that this hadn’t exactly been the witcher’s idea. 

“Ah, sure. Yes, good, talking. You both know I love to do that. What did you want to talk about then?” 

Jaskier couldn’t bring himself to meet anyone’s eyes, staring rather intently at the worn fabric that encased Geralt’s legs and trying to remember which of the many patch jobs in the legs had been his handy work. It wasn’t terribly hard to figure out which were his, the stitches much neater and finer than the rather haphazard job Geralt has always done of mending his own clothes. 

“Oh for the love of the gods,” Yennefer exclaimed, throwing her hands up dramatically when neither man said anything for several long minutes. “Fine. If you two won’t talk through your problems like normal functioning adults, then I will for you.” 

Jaskier couldn’t help the little smirk that quirked his lips. “Since when were you a normal functioning adult, Yenna? You are one of the worst at not talking through your problems.” 

Yennefer waved a hand at him impatiently, ignoring his comment apart from the little glare she sent him. “Let’s go through this in simple terms that even two idiots like you could understand. Geralt,” she turned to look at the witcher, soldiering on even when his eyes went wide and he shook his head a little desperately. “You care for Jaskier deeply but never feel like you know what to say to him. You default to your usual method of grumping and growling and saying exactly what you need to in order to make the other person leave, because you feel like you will only bring them pain and suffering. And you,” she turned on Jaskier, ignoring his panicked squeak, “never stand up for yourself against him because you don’t want to say the wrong thing and have him leave you. You let yourself be treated like a doormat until things build up to the point where you can no longer handle them, and then you leave. Both of you just need to fucking talk to each other for much and admit that you are disgustingly in love, it’s driving me crazy.” 

There was a long moment of silence. Jaskier and Geralt were staring at each other in shock. He hardly dared to believe that Yennefer was right, that Geralt could feel the same way about him that he did for the witcher, but the fear and longing in the amber eyes that seemed to bore into his soul told another story. 

“Oh shit. Did I just break you both?”


	47. When you think about him

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yennefer makes the two of them talk.

“Ugh, so do I need to leave the room or something? Come one. Just talk to each other and pretend I’m not even here. Better yet, talk to each other and I can be here to help you make sense of the general ridiculousness of both of you, because otherwise you will just pout at each other and then nothing will get resolved.” 

“Yen,” Geralt said in a harsh voice. “Shut up.” 

“Oh, well how’s that for gratitude,” she said, throwing her hands up dramatically. “I get you two to actually talk about your feelings instead of moping around this place all heartbroken and you tell me to shut up. Hmph, see if I ever help either of you again.” 

Jaskier sighed and stepped up to where she was angrily pacing, pausing her with his tail wrapped around her ankle. “Thank you, Yennefer, for making us talk about our feelings. I think what Geralt was trying to say was that if you plan on being here for this conversation, which is an incredibly awkward idea, but I doubt that I can convince you to leave, then you will need to be quiet enough for us to actually talk.” 

She frowned at that, but then turned and slumped into a nearby chair, kicking her legs up over the side and turning to watch them as if they were actors in a play. He supposed that was the best he was going to get from her, and turned to look at Geralt helplessly. The man looked back with a similar expression. Neither of them were willing to deal with the drama of trying to kick Yennefer out of the room when there was so much to unpack between them. 

“Ah, so.” Jaskier wished that he had some words at this particular moment. He was a bard, for gods’ sake, how could he not have words in the moment when he needed them the most. “So you, um, you care for me? Not that I didn’t know that, I mean, I figure that I am probably your only friend who isn’t another witcher or a mag, but ah, you don’t think I’m just an annoyance that you put up with on your travels?” 

“Jaskier.” Geralt sounded pained. “You’re not an annoyance. You’re,” the man looked as if speaking was like swallowing glass at the moment, but Jaskier was hanging on every single one. “You’re my best friend, Jaskier, and I care for you. A lot.” 

“You’re shitting me,” Yennefer interjected, looking at the pair of them in frustration. “There is no way I am sitting here and letting you talk each other into just being friends. I have waited far too long for you two to pull your head’s out of your asses, you aren’t fucking it up now.” 

Geralt turned to her with a snarl on his face that quickly died down when her eyes flashed and she wiggled her fingers at him warningly as sparks danced along them. Jaskier couldn’t help the few sparks that escaped him as he suppressed a growl of his own. 

“You idiots will thank me for this later, but for now just shut up and listen, ok?” 

When neither of the men interrupted her, Yennefer took a deep breath, flashed them both that picture perfect smile and continued. 

“Good, so. You two are disgustingly in love with each other and need to stop thinking that you are bad for each other. Geralt, you need to learn to appreciate the good things in your life and not try to destroy them before they can hurt you. You need to stop trying to prevent things from happening, whether it’s pushing people away or taking on the guilt for anything that happens. As someone who has been with you before, I am speaking from experience when I say that it is terribly demoralising to feel like you are constantly having your agency taken away from you, and you know that it will only push people away from you.” 

Geralt was looking at her in shock, his mouth slightly open as she laid bare some things that Jaskier was sure the man had never wanted spoken aloud, especially by someone like Yennefer. Jaskier was sure his face wasn’t much better, as he was still stuck on that “disgustingly in love” part. The hell was Yennefer doing, exposing his feelings like that? He knew that Geralt didn’t feel the same as he did, Yennefer didn’t need to try and pressure Geralt into it or make him feel that his friendship with Jaskier was more than it really was. He was learning to live with this slow bleed in his heart, and didn’t appreciate Yennefer just wrenching it open in an attempt to entertain herself. 

“And you, mister self sacrificing.” She turned her glare on Jaskier and he could see Geralt follow her even as a small voice in the back of his mind told him to run as fast and as far as he could in the hopes that she wouldn’t start unearthing all of his secrets in front of the man he loved. “You believe that you're only valued when you are giving of yourself to help others, that all you are good for is entertaining and helping people to feel happy. You never let yourself have anything good and then you expect that others could never feel the same depth of emotion as you. You don’t have the cornerstone on emotion, Jaskier. Others can and do love as deeply as you, and if you keep ignoring the way that people feel about you, then you will never allow yourself to be happy. Gods above, you are a strong, attractive, and powerful man. How the hell you manage to convince yourself that no one truly cares about me is surely some kind of magic, even if Borch blames it on your family.” 

He could feel the panic welling up in him again and it took everything that Jaskier had not to go scrabbling down the hallway looking for somewhere to hide. The only thing that was keeping him rooted to the spot was the look of hope that was slowly blossoming in Geralt’s amber eyes. Those eyes were fixed on Jaskier as the sorceress talked and he felt like he was being held prisoner by that gaze. It was both terrifying and exhilarating, this feeling that Geralt was getting to see just what Jaskier had been so afraid of him finding out for so long. 

“There. Now I have all your drama out in the open, will you two please actually talk to each other? This is getting beyond ridiculous.” 

“Geralt, do you really...?” Jaskier couldn’t even bring himself to finish that thought, to make the words come out of his mouth. While he knew that it would take time to rebuild that trust between them, for both of them to feel comfortable with each other again and to learn how to rebuild their relationship so that it was stronger and healthier than ever, he still felt like he was standing on the edge of the cliff and everything he had ever wanted was just there, if only he was brave enough to leap. 

“I do. Do you...?” The witcher was still staring into his soul, his face as impassive as always but those eyes that Jaskier knew like the back of his hand so full of emotion that he had no idea how they were not overflowing. He knew that if he had been in his human form, he likely would have had tears pouring down his face with all of the emotions swirling inside on him, and he assumed the witcher mutations were holding back a similar storm for Geralt. He nodded frantically, choking back a sob. 

“Sweet Melitele. That was painful. Alright, one more thing before I leave you two to your little lovebird session,” Yennefer said, smirking at them both. She knelt down beside Jaskier, having to pull his head to face her when he refused to break eye contact with Geralt. “Let me have a little peek in your mind, and I promise that you will both be very pleased with the consequences.” 

Jaskier blinked at her questioningly but nodded. He had full faith in Yennefer. She placed her fingers on his temples lightly, smiling back at him as he felt the gentle press of her mind against him. It was a strange sensation, as if she was trying to push something into his mind rather than the usual brush as she sifted through his memories. Her gentle push melded into a tug somewhere deep within his mind as she seemed to catch hold of something deep in his mind and pull it towards the surface. He winced, and then felt the warmth of his magic envelope him as his muscles started burning in an oddly sweet pain. 

Yennefer lifted her fingers from his head and stepped back, timing it perfectly to catch hold of Geralt when he started forward as if to comfort Jaskier. “Let it happen,” she said in a quiet voice, watching Jaskier as pride and concern mingled on her face. 

Jaskier didn’t even have a chance to ask her what the hell was happening before he felt him muscles contorting and then, before he really had a chance to process what was happening, he was lying naked on the floor in front of them both with human limbs that felt oddly long and uncoordinated. 

“Jaskier!” Geralt quickly pulled himself free of Yennefer’s grip to kneel on the ground beside him, his hands hovering over his skin like he wanted to check that he was unharmed. It would have been a lovely gesture, if Jaskier wasn’t also just realising that he was now naked in front of the man who had just admitted to having feelings for him. Jaskier tried to move to preserve some small amount of his dignity but ended up whacking Geralt in the nose with a stray elbow as his arms refused to do what he wanted them to. The witcher reared back with a muttered curse. 

“Well, well, Jaskier. I can certainly see how you get your reputation around the courts,” Yennefer said, openly leering at him. When she received a hissed reprimand from Geralt, she sighed and quickly summoned some clothes for Jaskier, not that he wanted to know where she managed to get clothes that fit him perfectly for. “You lot are no fun. I already know what you look like naked, Geralt, and how else am I meant to fuel my fantasies? I have no well endowed bard to warm my bed at night. You seem like a rather lucky man there, my friend.” 

“Have I died? Is this some kind of hell?” Jaskier rasped as he hurriedly tried to wriggle his way into the clothes, Geralt trying to do his best to help while also keeping his eyes rather courteously averted. “Oh shit! My voice! I can talk again! Oh, sweet Melitele.” He immediately launched into a rendition of  _ Toss a Coin _ , laughing through the notes as his voice slid expertly through them just like he remembered. He grinned and started adding more and more flourishes to the song, pushing his voice like he used to when he was back in Oxenfurt. 

Yennefer scoffed at him, trying to peer around Geralt’s body to satisfy her creepy desires. “Of course you immediately start singing. Why did we ever expect anything else from the famed Jaskier, bard of the witchers. You should really try to be a little less predictable, darling, you really should.” 

Even Yennefer couldn’t bring down his mood right now, and from the laughter dancing in her eyes he doubted that she meant to anyway. He was far too thrilled to be able to talk and sing and do all of the things that he had been so missing while he was a dragon. The best part was, there was no pain this time, no lingering aches and shooting pain from his draconid form trying to force its way to the surface. For once in his life, Jaskier felt perfectly healthy and content in this moment, and he had no idea how to react to it besides bursting into song. 


	48. You are that space that’s in between

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier is human again.

Jaskier was certainly not surprised when the door was almost broken as the others came stampeding into the room, although he was less than pleased for them all to see him on the floor and nearly in Geralt’s lap. The sound of what for most of them would have been an unfamiliar voice in the keep had brought them all running, even if it had been remarkably similar to the voice they had all been hearing in their heads as he projected his speech to them. 

“Jask, look at you!” Saskia crowed, launching herself onto him with her tail lashing in excitement. “You’re so pretty!” 

He couldn’t have stopped the blush that immediately burnt his face, or the nervous laugh that it dragged from him even as his cheeks started hurting with how much he was smiling. 

“Oh, yes. Very pretty indeed,” Yennefer drawled, giving him a rather lascivious wink that had the other witchers looking from her to the two men on the floor with a confused expression. 

“Yen,” he complained. “Stop being so ... you and give me a hand up. I don’t know how these legs work anymore, it’s been too long.” He tried to haul himself up on legs that seemed to be made of reeds, clutching at Geralt when he was kind enough to gently remove Saskia from him and give him a helping hand. His fingers lingered on Geralt’s a touch longer than he should have, glad that he was already blushing so that it could not get any worse when he saw several people look at their hands with raised eyebrows. 

“Well, well. I don’t know why I’m surprised, but you very much look like a bard,” Lambert said teasingly, stepping forward to poke at Jaskier’s arms. “How the hell did a little thing like you keep up with Geralt on the Path all these years?” 

He sniffed indignantly, slapping Lambert’s hands away. “Excuse you. I am more than capable of keeping up with you lot when you travel. We don’t all need to be over muscled bears to be able to function.” With an imperious sniff at Lambert, he stepped clear of the witchers and swept into a dramatic bow. “Jaskier, poet and bard to the courts of the Continent, master of the seven liberal arts, at your service.” 

The witchers scoffed at his rather dramatic introduction, but Ciri seemed delighted. She wriggled her way past the others before dropping into a rather impressive regal curtsey, made all the better by the fact she was in the rather ragged looking clothes she preferred for the training she went through. 

“Master Jaskier, I am Princess Cirlla Fiona Ellen Riannon of Cintra. I shall have to commission you to write ballads for my court when I am queen. I remember Grandpa Eist telling me that you had come to our court once. He kept singing some of your songs until Grandmother told him to stop filling my ears with filth.” 

Jaskier laughed in delight, picking her up and spinning her in a circle. He ignored the way he almost sent them both spilling onto the floor with his lack of coordination, and the way both Yennefer and Geralt stepped forward to prepare to catch them at any moment. 

“I would love to, princess. This lot here seem to have no appreciation for real music, but I know exactly the kinds of songs that Eist used to love. I shall have to perform for you tonight. The acoustics in the main hall seemed to be adequate, we can set it up for a full performance, just like I gave at your mother’s betrothal feast.” 

Ciri squealed with joy, her formality abandoned, and ran from the room, tugging Triss and Tissaia along with her as she already started sprouting off ideas for how they could decorate the room and make it a night to remember. He could hear Triss’ voice floating back down the fall to them, lowered in conspiratorial glee, with Tissaia’s usual stern tones interrupting to rein in some of her more fanciful ideas. 

Saskia looked at Jaskier, clearly torn when her best friend at the keep was having so much fun while her brother had finally managed to shift. He smiled gently at her, kneeling down to wrap his arms around her in a quick hug before nudging her towards the door. “Go and make sure that tonight is spectacular, Saskia. I need someone to make sure that everything is perfect, and there is no one I trust more than you.” 

She peered into his eyes for a moment, before pressing her forehead against his and letting out a soft hum on contentment. “You do look really pretty, Jaskier,” she said quietly before turning and racing down the hall at top speed, yelling for the others to wait for her. Téa snapped him a quick salute before she followed after her at a more sedate place. 

Borch sighed, stepping forward and pulling Jaskier into a hug. It was the first one he could think of that the older man had ever given him in this form, and it made him feel both overwhelmingly loved and also devastated that he had never had this before in his life. “You being human shaped again is going to make the situation with Vilgefortz slightly more difficult. Nothing that we can’t find a way around though. It is good to see you like this again, like the man that I met that day who was strong enough to help me protect Saskia even when you were in excruciating pain and had no reason to trust dragons after what your bitch of a mother did. I am so proud of you.” 

Jaskier buried his face against Borch’s chest, trying to subtly wipe his tears into the man’s jerkin even when he knew half of the people in the room could most likely smell the salt. He didn’t want to care, wanted to be confident enough to be open with his affections, but this was all still so new to him that he wanted to gather this moment close to try and hold it with him whenever things got dark again. 

When he finally managed to step back from his father’s arms, sniffing slightly, he turned and smiled weakly at the others. “Sorry, sorry.” 

Yennefer smiled at him, dramatically wiping at her eyes as if she had been crying too. “You are just a big bundle of emotions, now aren’t you, Jaskier? Now, I gave you two legs for something more than just being sappy. You should be able to channel that magic a bit better in a form that you are more accustomed to, as well as one where you are on more of an even footing with the others in this keep. Besides, you’re not as fun to annoy when you’re all small and scaly. It’s much more fun when you can’t just fly away.” 

Jaskier couldn’t stop himself from throwing himself at her, emotions way too close to the surface and starting to leak from his eyes again. She reacted in confusion, freezing at standing there with her arms awkwardly held out from her body and her posture rigid as she stared in confusion down at the man who was clinging to her and sobbing his gratitude to her like some babbling idiot. He felt her hesitantly pat at his back and completely lost it at that, the idea that she was so uncomfortable with affection singing out to the part of his soul that knew that feeling and hating the idea that she was going through this. 

He could hear some awkward shuffling behind him and the sound of people leaving, but he was too caught up in the moment to pay it much attention. It felt like all of his emotions were finally welling up and overwhelming him. While he had been in his draconid form, he had experienced all of that anger and fear and pain with the knowledge that he would at some point gain the physical capabilities to defend himself, that he would one day be able to slip back into his other life and no one else on the Continent would be able to connect the poor abused dragon with the bard that was known for his joy in life and his reckless desire for adventure. 

When he finally managed to come up for air, knowing that he most likely looked like an absolute mess, only Borch and Geralt were left in the room with the pair of them as they awkwardly looked at where Jaskier was alamo attacking Yennefer with his affection. Geralt in particular looked terrified, as if at any moment Jaskier would turn and start expecting him to emote at the same extremities that Jaskier tended to feel at. It almost made him want to throw himself at the man, if he hadn’t known him so well that he knew that it would only make the man feel uncomfortable and incapable of functioning as he was expected to. 

Instead, he contented himself with bumping his shoulder against Geralt’s and grinning at him. 

“So, does anyone have any instruments? I promised Ciri a performance, but I think I left my lute back in the Fiery Mountains. Which I am grateful for, don’t get me wrong. My beautiful baby doesn’t deserve to be anywhere near where that asshole was, but still. I miss her.” 

His pouting session was interrupted by Borch laughing at him. “Do you really think I left your lute behind, Julian? I’ve seen how possessive you are of that thing. I made sure that it came with us and was cared for the entire time. Now that you are human, I am sure you would like your own room. Geralt,” he turned a rather stern gaze on the witcher who managed to look adorably sheepish even though he was built like a brick shithouse and killed monsters for a living. “Vesemir said that he prepared the room between yours and Eskel’s for Jaskier. Would you and Yennefer be able to get him settled while I fetch his lute?” 

When Geralt nodded quickly, Borch sent him one last long look before leaving, the door slamming behind him ominously. It was quiet for all of ten seconds before Yennefer broke out into what Jaskier deemed her evil witch cackle. 

“Look at you getting the shovel talk just from a look!” she crowed. “You haven’t even done anything yet and he’s ready to murder you if you so much as look at Jaskier wrong. This is perfect.” 

“Shut up, Yennefer,” Geralt growled, not looking at either of them. 

Jaskier beamed at the mage, far too pleased with how this had all turned out to let her dampen the mood, and grabbed the witcher’s hand in his, holding it tightly and reveling in the fact that he could. 

“Come on you two, show me the way to this room of mine! A space all of my own, no girls to use me like a giant teddy bear, somewhere I can practice my scales without you whining that I’m interrupting the perfectly good quiet, and my baby being delivered right into my hands. Life could not get any better!” 

Geralt quirked an eyebrow at him as he led him from the room, tugging at their hands where Jaskier had entwined them gently but not pulling away from the touch. “Of course. All it takes to make Jaskier happy is a little bit of luxury and his lute. How could I have forgotten?” 

Yennefer grabbed Jaskier’s other hand, swinging it between them when he looked at her quizzically. “I don’t know why it took you so long to figure this out, Geralt. Jaskier is fairly predictable. That’s one reason why he’s so much fun to annoy.”

He glared at her, then turned his glare on Geralt when the made chuckled at the mage’s words. He banged their hands against Geralt’s thigh in reprimand even as he felt laughter bubbling out of him as well. “How nice to see I have such lovely friends. Always so kind and supportive. However would I survive without you?” 

Yennefer grinned at him, that sharp, pointed grin that he thought made her look insanely beautiful and terrifyingly dangerous and why was he thinking about Yennefer like this when Geralt had just admitted that he cared for him. He turned away from her quickly, not wanting her to see the confusion he felt starting to gnaw at his heart. Instead, he pasted a large grin on his face in response and hurried down the hallway tugging them both along behind him. 

“Let’s hurry. I want to see my baby again,” he said, pushing the feelings down as far as he could. He would deal with it all later, when he was alone and had a chance to freak the fuck out without an audience who could potentially rip him limb from limb if he pissed them off. 


	49. Up to you now love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier enjoys having a room of his own.

Jaskier looked around his room in joy before throwing himself onto the bed and bouncing up and down slightly. “Have I ever told you people how much I fucking love a comfy bed? Because I do, really and truly love it.” 

Geralt sighed, sounding put upon even as his lips quirked up in what passed as a smile. When Jaskier managed to wriggle himself over onto his back, he reached out to the witcher and couldn’t stop the huge grin on his face when he slowly made his way over to the bed and sat beside him, looking at Yennefer as if to ask for help when Jaskier quickly moved to rest his head on the man’s lap and put one of Geralt’s hands on his head. It didn’t stop the man from starting to gently card his fingers through Jaskier’s hair until the man was a puddle of contentment, finding the sensation similar to being pet in his draconid form. 

Yennefer cackled at both of them before shoving them both out of her way so that she could recline on the edge of the bed, looking imperious and dangerously attractive as she pulled a knife from where Geralt had one tucked away in his belt and started twirling it between her fingers absently. 

“You are adorable, Jaskier. We never would have guessed that you liked a comfortable bed, certainly not with the way that you complained every chance you got on the way up that bloody mountain.” 

Jaskier pouted up at Geralt, refusing to turn to look at Yennefer when she insisted on being rude to him (and when he was still trying to figure out exactly what his heart thought it was playing at.) “Excuse you, miss I magically conjure up a tent which I am sure is filled with all of the latest conveniences. Some of us were sleeping on a thin bedroll on a supremely rocky ground while others were living in the lap of luxury.”

He could feel the bed shifting as she moved about and then he was being prodded in the side with the hilt of the dagger. “You’re just jealous that I never invited you to my tent. Geralt can tell you just how comfortable it all was, can’t you?” 

Geralt grunted, twisting and snatching the dagger out of Yennefer’s hands. He ignored her protests and put up with her retaliating by snuggling up close behind Jaskier so that she was pressed up against both of them. Jaskier had felt the momentary hesitation before she brushed up against him, and he made a small welcoming murmur as she did so, knowing that this was Yennefer putting herself out there and hoping that they would catch her. 

He closed his eyes, basking in the moment and pushing any doubts and fears about what would happen after this away. He was suddenly exhausted, which he had a feeling was due to the whole shifting forms and all of that, and in such a blissfully comfortable moment he couldn’t push away the desire to let himself drift off. He could hear Geralt and Yennefer bickering quietly, both of them smelling of contentment and caring, not that he knew how to describe what that smelt like. The closest he could get was the feeling he felt when he was caring for his lute, the feeling that everything in that moment was perfect and there was something more, something positive, waiting for him in the near future. It was enough to let him slowly give in to sleep and slip under, secure in the knowledge that Geralt and Yennefer were there beside him. 

\---

Jaskier woke up feeling far too warm and groaned blearily. A hand flopped onto his face and pushed at his mouth in response, Yennefer’s voice sounding much less refined than he had ever heard for her as she grumbled something unintelligible at him. Without thinking, he licked at her fingers, hoping it would make her stop, but she retaliated by shoving them into his mouth further, a lazy giggle escaping her when he started making choking noises. 

There was an annoyed grunt and then the pair of them were being shoved apart as Geralt, who apparently had ended up as a mattress for both of them, sat up and glared at the pair of them with sleepy eyes. “Fucking stop,” he growled, trying and failing to look intimidating. 

Jaskier chuckled, shifting around so that he was cuddled up to the man’s thigh. It seemed that his usual overthinking hadn’t woken up yet, so he took the opportunity to relish the closeness with the man. It did mean ignoring Yennefer where she copied him, resting her head on Geralt’s other leg and poking her tongue out at him, but he could be the bigger person from time to time, especially if it meant that Geralt would rest his hand on his head and play with his hair. It was as close to bliss as Jaskier had ever been, and there was no way he was letting Yennefer’s sudden impish behaviour interrupt that. 

“How long have we been asleep?” Yennefer asked, jabbing Jaskier in the face with a sharp nail when he refused to play with her and shuffling around to sit next to Geralt on the bed as she started to push her hair back into it’s usual purposely ruffled curls. 

Geralt grunted at her for a moment before he found his words. “A couple of hours. Borch dropped off Jaskier’s lute and...” 

Whatever he had been about to say was lost in Jaskier’s sudden flailing as he tried to launch himself from the bed at the same time as he desperately cast his eyes around the room to find his baby. It resulted in him getting a snarl from Yennefer and a muttered curse from Geralt as his elbows connected, as well as his face meeting the floor as he slipped from the bed, but it was worth when he swooped on his darling lute where is rested gently against the wall in its case. 

He reverentially slid it from the case, his whole body almost singing with joy as he cradled it close to his chest. His fingers started dancing lightly across the strings before he settled into tuning it. 

“I see how easily we are replaced,” Yennefer mocked. The pleased look on her face undercut her tone, but he would have expected nothing less from her. Geralt only grunted again, but when Jaskier looked up with a beatific grin on his face, he could see the pleased look in the man’s eyes. 

“Oh shush, you. You have no idea how much I have been missing my darling. I haven’t been able to play in so gods damned long, and now, Sweet Melitele. I have missed this.” 

He couldn’t help himself. As soon as he had it properly tuned, he started playing little melodies, his smile getting larger and larger as he shifted from song to song seamlessly. He interspersed them with dramatic little flourishes, humming along as he played. He could see the small smile lurking on Geralt’s face as he watched him play and immediately started playing the opening bars to  _ Toss a Coin _ just to see the man roll his eyes. 

“Jaskier, if you can stop for just a moment,” Geralt said, one eyebrow raising when the bard shot him a plaintive look and started playing the beginning of a well known lament. “I can smell the food from up here. If you go down and eat your dinner now, Ciri would most likely love to listen to you perform tonight. She badgered me all the way to Kaer Morhen that she wanted to hear you play the songs you played at that bloody feast in Cintra.” 

The delighted grin on Jaskier’s face seemed to be answer enough for Yennefer and Geralt. The latter started to stand, clearly readying himself to head down to the hall with them, but Yennefer let out a dramatic sigh and collapsed back onto the bed. 

“You two are so predictable. That girl says jump and the pair of you ask how high.” 

“Like you aren’t just as bad, Yen,” Jaskier retorted. “I saw you teaching her how to apply makeup like you do when she gave you those big eyes of her. She has you wrapped around her finger, just like the rest of us.” 

He got a rude gesture in response to that, while Geralt received her hands outstretched in the air and a pout on her face as she waited for him to help her up from the bed. He did so with a longsuffering look on his face before turning and helping Jaskier up as well. When the pair of them shot each other cheeky grins before hooking their arms around Geralt’s and marching him from the room in a line, they could almost hear his eyes roll in his head. 

Yennefer and Jaskier were laughing hard enough that Geralt was supporting most of their weight by the time they arrived in the hall. The disapproving look that Vesemir sent them had nothing on the way that Téa and Véa took one look at Jaskier, face flushed with laughter as he clung to Geralt’s arm, and started poking their tongues into their cheeks at him after discreetly checking to see that Borch was safely in the kitchen collecting the last roast vegetables. Jaskier almost keeled over in shock at that, eyes going wide in shock as he started shaking his head desperately. He could see the other witchers looking from him to the girls and then grinning dangerously and started praying that the ground would open up under him right then and there. 

“Why is everyone laughing?” Saskia asked, scowling and spitting flames when that only made the others laugh harder. She was sitting beside Ciri and the two girls looked completely unimpressed with the adults and their stupidity. 

“Not to worry, darlings,” Triss said, smothering the last of her laughter. “Weren’t you going to show Jaskier your decorations?” 

It was the perfect thing to say. Both girls were instantly sidetracked, too busy dragging Jaskier around the room to show him the candles and ribbons and other fripperies that they had convince Triss and Tissaia to help them with to pay attention to how the witchers were ribbing Geralt loudly enough for Jaskier’s ears to burn halfway across the room. It didn’t help that Geralt refused to comment, glaring at them with his usual stoic look when Jaskier managed to sneak a peek at the man as the girls had their backs turned. 

Borch managed to corral the girls back to the table with his entrance, helped in large part by the food he had with him. Both girls seemed to be starving, quickly getting Triss and Téa to help them to fill their plates before they started devouring the food as fast as they could. It had Lambert proudly proclaiming that they were getting to be real witcher children, which started Vesemir on a lecture about how the man’s awful eating habits were nothing to do with being a witcher and just Lambert being generally uncouth. All in all, it felt like the perfect family dinner, complete with bickering, food stealing, and the warm weights of Yennefer and Geralt pressed against either side of him. 

Before he knew it, the remains of the food, what little was left between Lambert and the girls, were being cleared away and Ciri was looking expectantly from Jaskier to his lute and back again. The poor thing looked fit to burst with anticipation and Jaskier had to smother a laugh as her plight. 

“Would now be a good time for a song?” he asked, smothering his laughter when Ciri immediately jumped at the opportunity. Saskia wasn’t much better, proudly telling everyone at the table how her brother was the best bard in the entire Continent and that he had been singing for her since the moment she was born. It was adorably heart warming and enough to convince him to scramble from his space between the mage and the witcher and ready his lute. 

“Any requests?” he asked. 

“Anything but that fucking coin song!” Coën joked, his grin taking the sting from the comment. “I get that in every bloody inn I go to now. How’s a witcher meant to look intimidating when people are singing at him everywhere he goes?” 

Jaskier chuckled at that, pulling a face. “That is rather the point. I was a little disappointed in the way people were treating Geralt as if he was some kind of monster everywhere we went, especially when he would clear the monsters out of their stinky little backwards villages. At least the song stopped them chasing him out as soon as he was done with the contracts. You lot should be begging me to sing that song for you.” He gave a dramatic sniff before fixing Yennefer with a rather wicked look and biting at his tongue. 

“I have a better idea though. There is one that I have been working on recently, something about a black haired woman who is all bark and no bite. Would you be interested in being my trial audience?” 

Yennefer's mock growl and the way she lunged from the bench to teasingly grab towards his lute had him laughing and dancing away, strumming the strings as he went and starting to sing about the misadventures of this woman. Triss’ bright laughter and Tissaia’s upturned lips were encouragement enough, but the rumbling laugh from Geralt that mingled with Saskia and Ciri’s high pitched delight sealed the deal. It felt good to be able to perform for the people he loved. He had missed the feeling of music weaving in the air around them, bringing them closer and allowing him to tell them all just how much he cared. 


	50. Don’t you know that its not all about you anyway

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier is not enjoying his magic training.

Being human shaped again was both a blessing and a curse. Yes it meant he had access to his darling beloved lute again, which was one of the best things to ever happen to Jaskier, but it also meant that he had to put up with the drama of being human again. The main one being that he was constantly being asked if he had to sing at the top of his lungs with the necessary musical accompaniment at every waking moment, to which the answer was of course yes. 

But all joking aside, he had been launched into what he started calling magical torture time as Vesemir, Borch, and Tissaia had decided that he needed to be as prepared as possible so that they could deal with the mage they were keeping locked in the dungeons. It was something that had the witchers smiling knowling at them, clearly familiar with this kind of “training”. Geralt was at least somewhat supportive as he ensured that he was at every training session he could despite Vesemir’s constant attempts to send him out on various chores in a thinly veiled attempt to stop him from hovering over the young dragon at every moment of the day. 

He was slowly getting better at controlling his magic though, much to his disgust. He knew, and had been told many many times in long angry monologues by Yenenfer that his magic was just another tool at his disposal rather than something that would take away from all of the work he had put into developing his musical skills. Under Tissaia’s rather militant tutelage, he was beginning to learn how to manipulate his magic through that same eerie sound he had managed to produce in the woods at will rather than having the magic escape him with little control. It was an ego boost to know that he could conjure various illusions at will with his voice, but he was struggling with the whole enforcing his commands on someone through song. 

Part of that may have been down to the fact that he was starting to feel rather guilty about it all. All three mages had tried to talk that particular squeamishness out of him, but it just felt wrong. Jaskier was all about free will and choice, that was the whole reason he had managed to pluck up the courage to escape his mother’s home, and taking that away from someone, even momentarily, did not sit well with that. Even though Tissaia had given him a whole lot of stern glares and muttered about self sabotage while she fastidiously brushed snow from her dress, Jaskier couldn’t make himself do it. He followed her instructions to the letter, but every time he saw his chosen target for the day, usually Téa or Véa who had gladly volunteered themselves for it, start to glaze over as they followed his suggestions, he had to stop. 

A few times, he had been so disgusted with himself that he had ended up retching against the walls of the keep. Everytime that happened, Geralt had appeared at his side as if by magic and glared at the others while gently guiding Jaskier back into the keep and into his room where he could curl up miserably in a ball and cry himself into a light sleep. Whenever he woke up, Geralt would be meditating between him and the door; his silent protector making sure that no one would intrude on Jaskier’s space while also giving him the room to process what he was becoming. 

It had led Jaskier to drop himself further and further into what he was familiar with in order to push away the thoughts of what Tissaia was trying to unlock within him. He knew that he was a dragon, that he was part of a species that was famous for its aggression and vengeful pride, but underneath it all he didn’t want to lose the parts of himself that he was proud of. He threw himself into his usual music, running through songs that he had not played since his early days in Oxenfurt as well as some of the songs he had found in his travels across the Continent. He could see the worry in Geralt’s eyes when he was surrounded almost constantly by Jaskier’s singing and could see the damage that Jaskier was inflicting on his fingers as year’s worth of calluses were being reopened by the constant playing, but he couldn’t make himself stop. It was this or allow himself to think about what exactly he was capable of now with his songs, and he preferred to live in his stupid little fantasy world instead. 

It all came to a head one day when Yennefer came storming into the room while Jaskier was running through a series of eleven ballads on Ettariel. Geralt was meditating in the corner, which he knew was the man’s way of escaping from his worry without leaving the bard alone, but he had been playing for the last few hours and didn’t know if he could stop if he wanted to. 

“What the fuck, Jaskier?” she hissed, storming into the room and tossing her curls over her shoulder. She stopped in front of where he sat playing on the edge of his bed, her slight frame almost shaking with her emotions. It was enough to have him miss a note, and the sudden change in the song had Geralt blinking his way out of his trance and raising to his feet before he noticed that it was Yennefer that had distrubed the peace. 

“What the actual fuck do you think you are doing? Moping around the keep like a fucking musical ghost, it’s enough to drive everyone else mad. Do you think you’re above using your magic, hm? Think you’re better than the rest of us?” 

That started Jaskier out of his song. He gently set his lute down, fingers aching, and looked at her in confusion. “What have I done to make you think that I would ever think something like that?” 

Yennefer scoffed, shooting Geralt a look that had him shrugging at Jaskier before quickly slipping out of the room and leaving Jaskier to Yennefer’s tender ministrations. 

“You walk around here acting like your magic is a curse, like this is the worst thing that could ever happen to you. Do you think any of us wanted this? Wanted these lives that we were given? For fucks sake, Jaskier. Magic is a part of you, just like it is for the rest of us. You don’t see any of us pretending that we can escape our Fates. Life is shit, deal with it.” 

He glared at her as she got right in his face. It probably wasn’t the smartest thing he could do when she looked like she was seconds away from ripping his throat out, but he had never claimed to be smart when it came to keeping his neck intact. 

“Shut up, Yennefer,” he snarled. “You have no idea what it is like to feel like nothing in your life is in your control, like you are being turned into some kind of, of weapon when all you want is to live a quiet, simple life!” 

“Oh don’t I?” she replied, her voice lashing out like a blade. “Did I ever tell you how I came to Aretuza?” 

“How is this relevant, Yennefer? You told me some shit about your family being crap and then Tissaia being a hardass.” 

“Yes. And when I decided I didn’t want it, didn’t want to become a mage and have my life taken from my control, I tried to end it. I thought that if I could at least die by my own hand, then I would have some level of control, could remain myself until the end instead of letting them turn me into some vicious, cutthroat mage. But it turns out, I already was one. I just needed to find a way to take this power, take the life that Destiny had laid out for me, and find a way to make it mine.” 

Jaskier was staring at her in shock. Having Yennefer relive such a clearly painful memory in front of him was humbling. 

“From what I’ve gathered, none of the witchers here have a happier story either. No one here is living in one of your ballads, Jaskier; we are all just trying to find as much happiness as we can and look after the people that we care for. If that means carving off pieces of our soul in order to keep them safe, then so be it. Now you need to decide whether you are willing to do what it takes to make sure that no one hurts Geralt, Saskia, or Ciri in the way that you were hurt, or if you are going to be able to live with yourself if something were to happen to them.” 

With that, she went to storm out of the room, clearly done with him now that she had said her peace. 

“”But who looks after you, Yennefer? Who makes sure that you don’t get hurt?” 

She paused in the doorway, turning to look over her shoulder at him with those violet eyes filled with far too much pain and trauma. 

“You know me. I look out for myself only, and no one else. I don’t need anyone.” 

She flipped her hair over her shoulder again before marching out of the room, head held high. She almost managed to cover up the slight shake in her shoulders as she tried to hold herself rigid, but Jaskier was far too used to looking for minute traces of body language after all of his time travelling with Geralt. 

He flopped back onto the bed as the door slammed behind her, turning her words over in his mind. He had never given much thought to how Yennefer had become an enchantress before beyond her telling him about her unhappy family situation, but it made a lot of sense. Now that he knew, he could see how those events must have shaped the woman that she had become. He could see how her biting attitude and her smarmy superiority were born from this need to protect herself and claw out any modicum of joy she could find in life, and it broke his heart to think of her in those early days feeling so alone and helpless. 

He could never allow Saskia or Ciri to experience anything like that, could never let them feel that unloved ever again. He knew that Ciri had already had a taste of just how violent the world was, but she was so confident and content with the witchers that he knew that she would turn out to be a well adjusted adult. They would all band around the girls and keep them safe, and if he had to push down his qualms and force himself to do things that he would rather not, then it would be worth it. He could never live with himself if either of them were hurt. 

Hell, he felt the same about Geralt and Yennefer too. He knew of some of Geralt’s youth, and what he did now filled him with as much pain and rage as what he had just heard of Yennefer’s. Jaskier promised himself that he would do anything, would become anything, to make sure that neither of them ever experienced that kind of pain again. With that thought in mind, he resolved to try harder at practice the next day and make sure that he mastered this particular kind of magic. It would be awful to do to his friends and family, but if it meant that he could deal with threats like Vilgefortz before they could harm the people that he cared about, he would do whatever it took. He would wade through fire for these people, and he wasn’t going to let a little thing like morals stand in the way of keeping them safe and happy. 


	51. One place I could be right now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier is making some progress in his magic training.

Jaskier couldn’t help the warring pride and disgust from welling up within him as he watched both Eskel and Coën jump up and down while singing  _ Toss a Coin _ . He could hear the others praising him over the sound of his song, the wordless tune hanging on the air. He knew that this was a good sign, that this meant that his magic was both powerful and controlled enough to ferret Vilgefortz’s secrets from him and ensure that his family was safe, but he still felt as if a faint layer of slime clung to him, much as it did to Geralt when he had finished fighting that nest of drowners in a swamp. 

“Now, Jaskier. You have been working on the telepathic communication like I asked, haven’t you?” Tissaia raised one eyebrow at him, a small pleased nod at his affirmative reply all she gave him before she kept talking. “Now I want you to move your song from the physical level to the telepathic. Try and get Geralt to recite something, something he would not normally have any cause to say.” 

He sent Geralt a small helpless shrug, fighting his grin at the rather pinched expression on Geralt’s face as he rolled his shoulders and steadied his stance. The poor darling looked like he was preparing to take on a whole group of nekkers or, even worse, a court full of nobles. It wasn’t exactly the look that Jaskier wanted from the man that he was ... romantically entangled with? Is that what they were calling it? Anyway, no matter what he was calling the maelstrom of emotions that the pair of them were slowly working through, it wasn’t the ego boost that Jaskier wanted when the man looked so uncomfortable.

With a small sigh and his own little roll of the shoulders, he pulled his face into a frown and started trying to force his song through the pathway he had been working on. It was much harder than singing out loud, and he could feel the sweat beading on his face as he tried to get his magic to build up inside him and leak out towards Geralt. He knew that he was making some awful contorted face and could almost feel the song welling up in his throat, wanting to take the easy way out, but he tried to push through it and do what he knew everyone wanted to see. It was awful, but he was determined to get through this. He needed to be strong enough, to have enough control, to protect his family and if this is what it took then he would make himself do this and force Geralt to do something that he didn’t want to do. 

Fuck, now he hated the thought that he was making Geralt, the man that the loved and cared for and had worked for decades to take care of and show his love to without the man realising, do something that he may not want to. Even if he knew that the man would allow this, that he was willing and able to let Jaskier use him as a test subject, but he hated it. He didn’t want to do this to a man who had been used as a test subject by the people who had raised him. Not the man who had been poked and prodded and tested more often even than his brothers, but what else could he do in this moment. 

Geralt’s face seemed strained for a moment, his mouth slowly opening despite the way he seemed to be fighting it. When the man started trying to sing  _ Toss a Coin _ in a rather gruff, not at all musical tone, the words sounding more like rocks scraping together than an actual piece of music, Jaskier quickly stopped trying to push his music at Geralt and looked expectantly at Tissaia. He could hear Geralt swearing, the song ending as soon as the man could stop it. Gods, he felt scummy. 

“Hm. Well. That was adequate. You will need to get over those morals of yours, but I suppose we do not have the time for you to work through those just now. We shall have to practice this several more times, until this is as easy as breathing for you, but you have made a good start. If I can trust you to keep practicing, I told Vesemir that if he wants to try and keep some of the detritus about this place, he will need to accompany me as I tidy this place up. There are several more rooms that are in dire need of some assistance. Triss, you will be accompanying me as well. Yennefer,” she turned and raised an eyebrow sardonically at the younger mage. “If we need something destroyed with pyrotechnics, then I will call you.” 

She ignored Yennefer’s bitchy retort, instead giving them all a rather obvious fake smile and turning to stride towards the keep, Vesemir following along after her with an unhappy air and Borch ruffling Jaskier’s hair before following the pair of them. Eskel and Coën quickly followed, muttering something about needing to make sure that Lambert hadn’t started on the moonshine without them and needing to drink away the memory of that bloody song. 

“Now that all of our parents are otherwise occupied, can we do something fun?” Jaskier asked tiredly. 

“Ew,” Yennefer protested, “Tissaia is in no way related to me. Don’t even suggest it.” 

Even Geralt cracked a small smile at that. 

“Oh, sure,” Jaskier said, bumping her with his shoulder and then dancing away when she smacked at him. “The three of us are rather low on parental figures. We have to take whatever we can get. Besides, do we want to talk about whatever they are getting up to, or do we want to do something interesting?” 

“What’s your idea of fun today?” Geralt asked. He only looked mildly suspicious, which Jaskier decided to take as a good sign. 

“Given that we have miss portal with us,” he dodged yet another swipe from Yennefer, “we could go somewhere other than this keep. I don’t know about you, but I am starting to go crazy looking at the same walls every day.” 

He could tell that he had Yennefer the instant he mentioned leaving the keep, her eyes lighting up as she looked around at the same grey walls and training paraphernalia that they had been surrounded with for so long. Geralt seemed a bit more hesitant, which made sense when this place had become his safe haven, the one place where he was not spat at and cursed even when he was helping people. He just needed to find a way to get Geralt to see all of the wonders that were out there, waiting for him, instead of focusing on the dangers and hardships that he had experienced far too often in his life. 

“While that would be fantastic and I am thinking about kissing you for such a perfect idea,” Jaskier tried hard not to let his face flush as Yennefer spoke, keeping his eyes trained on Geralt as if that would justify the way his heart skipped a beat at her words, “you do realise that if we leave this place without Ciri or Saskia, we will most likely be murdered on our returns, don't you?” 

Geralt blanched at the thought, clearly envisioning exactly what kind of shit storm would be waiting for him if he did not take his daughter with him on any kind of trip outside of Kaer Morhen. Jaskier felt the same. Saskia would slowly skin him alive if he left her behind, especially with how paranoid she was becoming about him being out of areas that she had deemed safe. He supposed being kidnapped would do that to her, and he had no desire to bring up any painful memories. 

“Fine, fine. We can start planning a trip though, right? And then we can organise a marvellous time for everyone at some fantastic location that will take our minds off of all of the stress and the stupid magic training.” Jaskier almost danced for joy at the mere thought, a little shimmy escaping him despite himself and earning him a soft look from both mage and witcher. 

Geralt reached out and pulled him into a half embrace, tucking Jaskier under his arm so that he was pressed against the side of him. Which, it just so happened, was rapidly becoming one of Jaskier’s favourite places to be, so he was in no way complaining. 

“You wanted to go to the coast, did you not, poetaster?” 

“First off, how rude! I am in no way a poetaster. All of my work is beyond amazing, even if you struggle to appreciate the magnificence of my literary work. And second, yes, yes I did, and I will be beyond pleased if we go to the coast. We can swim in the sea and see who can build the greatest castle in the sand and enjoy the sunshine. It would be blissful. It might even make you smile, mister grumpy pants.” 

Yennefer laughed at them as Geralt mock growled and picked Jaskier up, throwing him over his shoulder so that the bard’s giggles were muffled against his back. It did put Jaskier in the perfect position to start groping the more than magnificent behind that suddenly appeared in his field of view, something that resulted in him being put back on his feet so fast his head spun while Geralt looked at him in absolute shock. Jaskier thought the man was about to grab for his pearls at any moment, and Yennefer looked to be seconds away crying with her laughter. 

“Really, Geralt. You expect me not to take advantage of an opportunity when you place it so tantalisingly close to me? It’s like you don’t know me at all!” 

The witcher sputtered at the pair of them, pulling a scowl that was clearly an attempt to hide his own grin as Jaskier and Yennefer started clutching at each other. Every time either of them so much as looked at the other, they would dissolve into fits of laughter again, which was not helped by Geralt who was clearly enjoying seeing them both so happy. 

When they had finally managed to stop laughing, mainly by not looking each other in the eye for long minutes for fear of laughing again, Jaskier and Yennefer were sitting on the floor, Yennefer almost reclining in his lap as she smoothed her curls back into some semblance of disheveled order. Jaskier found himself more pleased with the situation than he probably should be, and stretched out a hand for Geralt, smiling gently when the man took it with a muttered curse about crazy assholes and sat down beside them. There was a moment of shifting that ended with Jaskier leaning against Geralt’s chest while he played with Yennefer’s hair, slowly unwinding the curls in his lap and watching as they sprang back into play. She had lazily magicked away any snow or damp, leaving the ground beneath them firm and dry, and now seemed about to start dozing in his lap like a kitten. 

“This is nice,” Jaskier said softly, turning what he was sure was a rather soppy look up to Geralt’s face when the man picked up Jaskier’s loose hand and started toying with his fingers. “Time to ourselves, not worrying about imminent death or torture sessions under the guise of training. Just the three of us, in what I guess passes for sunshine in the winter here.” 

Geralt scoffed, pulling gently at his fingers to get his attention. “I would have thought that the great Jaskier would have wanted more luxury and excess. There’s no adoring crowds singing your praises.” 

Yennefer made a soft noise, snuggling closer into Jaskier’s hands. “He doesn’t need adoring fans. He has us, doesn’t he?” Her voice was softer than he had ever heard it, and he thought that she must be on the verge of sleep. He was sure that a fully conscious Yennefer would never voice something so sweet and personal, not without extreme coercion, and decided to treasure this moment rather than questioning the roiling mass of feelings it engendered in his chest. 

“Well, then. If I have my very own adoring fans right here, I suppose I had better entertain them.” 

With a small grin, he started singing softly. He had been working for a while on a new song that would fit something like this, something soft and dreamy instead of his usual catchy lyrics and fast paced jigs that did so well in taverns. No, the song of the raven and the wolf journeying to find their dragon would be one that he would keep nice and slow, one of those beautiful ballads that hung on the air and wove a story that could capture at least a fraction of the love that he felt in his heart in this moment. 


	52. I won’t leave without a fight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier is given a chance to confront his fears.

For some reason, Borch was not helping Jaskier when it came to avoiding Tissaia in her task-master-of-doom persona. When they had told the others of their plan to take a day at the coast, Borch, Vesemir, and Tissaia had all exchanged looks before she had announced that there would be no trips until she was certain that Jaskier would be able to use his magic defensively at least. He had immediately started plotting ways around her decree, but when Yennefer had explained that Tissaia would be able to feel any portals being opened in her vicinity and she was not willing to endure that many lectures because he didn’t want to do some training, he had resigned himself to training harder than ever. 

After a few more days of training hell, she had decided that he was good enough to try using his magic against Vilgefortz. He had been trying to forget about the mage in their dungeon, something that he struggled with when either one of the witchers or Zerrikanian women were down there almost constantly. From what Geralt had grudgingly shared with him in an attempt to make him feel more comfortable, Vilgefortz was slowly giving more information about his experiments as they constantly taunted him. The man seemed to view the witchers and the women as inferior. He bragged to them about the various things he had tested Jaskier’s scales from, insulting their intelligence while he painted an image of himself as the greatest magic practitioner in the entire Continent. 

He had made a small comment about being surprised that Vilgefortz was still breathing if he made such comments about the witchers. He had been trying to cover up the way the man’s name still made him shake with fear with his usual sense of humour, but knew that Geralt clearly saw through him with the way the man immediately pulled Jaskier close. It seemed to be his new favourite way of soothing the bard, and himself. 

“Lambert has come rather close to it, but Triss has convinced them all that it will be much more satisfying if the ignorant mutants who think they are smart because they know which end of a sword is sharp can confront him with all the ways in which he has failed. Besides, he hasn’t said what his plan was, just the various things he has found out about the magical properties of dragon parts. None of us would ever do anything like that, but at least it will give your family a good idea as to what to look out for and avoid.” 

That had been moderately reassuring, the feeling of Geralt’s arms around him as he held Jaskier against him even more so. He was starting to find it hard to sleep at night without Geralt beside him now, needing the quiet, slow thump of the witcher’s heart to lull him into a sleep that was not filled with memories of his imprisonment. Hell, even that lilac and gooseberry scent was starting to become essential for a good night’s sleep, what with Yennefer deciding that her room was apparently not comfortable enough and the only bed that would do was the one with Jaskier and Geralt in it. She completely denied that them being in the bed was any sort of reason for her decision, not that either of them believed her for a second. Instead, Jaskier just teased her about how obnoxious it was that she had such a signature scent, to which he was told to stop whining before she started in on the elaborate skin care routine she knew he usually adhered to. The fact that she had managed to produce some of the creams and ointments that he preferred and left them on his packs with no fanfare was merely coincidental, he was sure. 

But now was apparently the time for him to attempt to use his magic on Vilgefortz, something that made him want to vomit up the small amount of food that he had managed to force himself to eat for breakfast that morning when neither Yennefer or Geralt would let him leave the table without having at least tried some food. The fact that it was sitting in his stomach like a lump of lead didn’t seem to matter as he was slowly bundled towards the dungeons, the mages all layering him in spells and various amulets to cloak his presence. None of them wanted Vilgefortz to be able to identify Jaskier in his human form, and the thought apparently was that if they layered enough spells over him to distort and hide his image, Vilgefortz would never be able to figure out what was part of the spells and what was truly him. It was a smart idea, but it left him feeling as if he was viewing the world through a fog, coated in a fine, slippery film, and he couldn’t have felt more like this was an awful idea. 

He had no idea how this was meant to work. No one was giving him a clear idea, all of them talking over the top of each other and Geralt crowding him as he let out what seemed to be unconscious snarls whenever someone got too close to Jaskier. 

The only thing that was keeping him from completely losing his mind was the way that Yennefer had managed to sidle her away around Geralt to take Jaskier’s other side and slip her hand into his even as she started ordering Lambert and Coën to accompany Téa as she took the two girls off to practice on the Pendulum to get them somewhere no one would have to worry about Vilgefortz seeing them. The way her fingers tangled with his and squeezed when he blanched at the thought of what was going to happen was almost as reassuring as the way she started muttering in his ear all of the plans she had for the coming summer. 

Apparently, she had decided that once all of this nonsense with Vilgefortz was over, she would be travelling with Geralt and Jaskier for a while and needed to take them to the next gathering of the Brotherhood of Sorcerers to show off. Her detailed accounts of just how delicious it would be to rub it in the face off all of those who still looked down at her for being less than the finest student of Aretuza that she not only had the company of a witcher, but also a famed bard was enough to distract him, especially when she started plotting just how she could wind up some of the more ... promiscuous members of the Brotherhood would be rather jealous to see her touting around such good looking men. She started planning out just how she would dress them both to best effect and how glad she would be to laugh at the girls who liked to wear fabrics that revealed more than they covered see just how oblivious they would all be to their charms when they had each other to talk to. 

Her stories managed to distract him enough that when she slowly trailed off, he was surprised to find himself down a thin hallway that Eskel had told him encircled the dungeons. It had previously been used to keep an eye on prisoners or those in the dungeons without them being aware, having bricks that Jaskier hadn’t realised had been enchanted to appear and feel solid but where able to be changed to create windows into the room without the inhabitants knowing. 

Tissaia muttered something under her voice before turning to look at Jaskier, her face even more stern than usual. 

“I have warded the room so that he cannot hear us currently.” She looked around the hall to see the remaining three witchers, Véa, and both Triss and Yennefer crowded around Jaskier, while Borch was looking through the small space into the cell as flames gently flickered from his nostrils with every exhale. “Triss, you and Lambert will go around to the cell. When I lower the charm, Jaskier will sing. Focus on getting him to speak the truth, and then Triss can question him. Lambert, I am trusting that you will have no problem providing physical support if he decides to try anything?” When Lambert cracked his knuckles threateningly, she nodded her approval and gestured him and Triss out of the room. 

That left Jaskier with a bit more room to breathe, something he took immediate advantage of as he started hyperventilating. Both Geralt and Yennefer were immediately trying to unfurl him from the foetal position he found himself curling into, each grabbing an arm and pulling him upright between them as they pressed against his sides. He managed to get himself back into an upright position and his breath back under control, mainly by ignoring the increasing tension he could feel in the room and instead focusing on the insults that Yennefer was muttering to him. He even managed to choke out a weak “how dare you, miss Queen of darkness,” when she called him a puffed up popinjay. He could see the relief in her eyes and the way that Geralt’s grip on his arm lightened infinitesimally. Gods, he was so lucky. 

Borch turned away from the wall, looking over Jaskier with a concerned eye. When he smiled grimly back at the older dragon, Borch sighed and stepped forward to rest a shoulder on Jaskier’s shoulder. “I am so proud of you, Julian. Remember that, and that your family will go to war to make sure that this worm never touches you again.” 

Then he stepped back, Véa mirroring him, until all that stood between Jaskier and the small window into Vilgefortz’s cell was Tissaia. She gave him one last searching look before the sounds of Lambert’s angry voice drifted through the hole in the wall, already cussing out Vilgefortz. The sounds of the mage lunging at the bars and screaming obscenities right back had Jaskier cringing instinctively back against Geralt and Yennefer before he forced himself to take a deep breath and step forward. 

“He can’t touch you, Jaskier. He will never touch you again. Now let him see just how wrong he was to try and hurt you.” 

He turned a grateful smile to Geralt before moving to stand beside Tissaia and peer through the hole. Vilgefortz barely resembled the man who had kept him imprisoned for so long. The man’s opulent military garb was disgusting, covered in filth and hanging in tatters from his frame. His hair flew around him in greasy strands as he screamed and raved at Lambert. He seemed not to notice the bars even as he threw himself against them, yelling about what a powerful magician he was and how he would make the worms who dared to trap him here like this pay for their hubris. The man thought he was a god, and Jaskier was disgusted to think that there had been a time when he might have agreed with that idea in his fear. 

Jaskier took a deep breath, widening his stance and closing his eyes. He focused his sense on what he could hear in the room around him, tuning out the sounds of Vilgefortz to hone in on the small sounds of the witchers’ breathing, the gentle rustling of clothing as Yennefer and Tissaia shifted impatiently, the brimstone and sword oil scent of Borch and Véa. He was no longer the small dragon, locked in a cage and too scared of the pain to try and stand up for himself. He was Jaskier, the famous bard, the witchers’ friend, the person who loved his family and his friends with all of his heart. He was not going to let his weasley piece of shit change who he was any more. 

Opening his eyes and glaring at the pitiful shape of Vilgefortz, Jaskier began to sing.


	53. The words that shone are all but gone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier gets a chance to inflict some pain.

The sound coming out of his mouth didn’t even sound like him anymore. The hissing tones rose and fell, but the pure menace that was slipping from him wasn’t something that Jaskier even recognised. Those in the room with him recoiled slightly before Geralt and Yennefer turned to share proud smiles over his head, but Jaskier was too busy glaring at the form of Vilgefortz. The song kept hissing out of him, the tone deeper than he was sure that human vocal cords should not be able to make, but there was also a strange blend of sounds escaping him that had to be the product of magic. 

He saw Vilgefortz recoil as the sound filled the room around him. Instead of smashing himself repeatedly into the bars and continuing his tirade against Lambert and Triss, the man started looking around for the source of the noise, his fingernails beginning to scratch at the side of his head as if that would somehow make it stop. He couldn’t stop the way his mouth curved up at the sides viciously, the way his voice got stronger and more powerful as he gloried in the way he was bringing the man who had hurt him so much to such a low. 

“Make it stop! Make it stop!” Vilgefortz screeched, his voice getting higher and higher as blood began to run down the side of his face. 

Jaskier could hear the smirk in Lambert’s voice. “If you would be so kind as to answer the lovely lady’s questions, I am sure that we could find a way to oblige.” 

The mage snarled at him, pulling one hand away from his face to slam at the bars angrily before he nodded. Jaskier almost felt bad when the man started moaning in pain, but then a glance at the protective glee on Borch’s face had him pouring everything he had into the song. There was no way he was allowing the man who had caused so much pain to his family to escape without feeling at least a tenth of the pain they had all endured. 

“What were you trying to do with the dragon?” Triss asked. She managed to keep her voice fairly even, but she couldn’t help the small note of distaste that slipped through. The woman was far too sweet for her own good, but Jaskier knew that she would support him with this as far as he wanted to go. She had been one of the people who had helped to put him back together when they first rescued him, and he knew that neither Triss nor Yennefer would be forgetting what a terrified wreck of a person he had been. 

Vilgefortz laughed at her words. His voice was reaching a terrifyingly manic pitch, and Jaskier was starting to worry that he may break before he was able to answer their questions. 

“You want to know about the fucking dragon? That pathetic piece of shit? He was a means to an end. There was nothing special about him, nothing of value apart from the magic I could make from the pieces of his body!” 

The growl that echoed around the room came from several throats, and the agonised screams as Jaskier forced even more magic into his song was music to his ears. He found himself reveling in the pain in the man’s voice and he couldn’t find an iota of remorse within him. If this man wanted to reduce him to nothing more than an animal to be used for his parts, then he would allow the most bestial elements of his nature free reign. 

“No, no! Please!” Vilgefortz cried. 

“I suggest you keep a civil tongue in your head, asshole. I’ve been told that apparently it helps,” Lambert snarled. When the mage nodded repeatedly and crawled towards the bars to pull himself up shakily, Jaskier managed to pull back. He left just enough magic in his song to keep the man in a low level of pain, just enough for him to remember what was at stake here. 

“Dragons are beings of immense magical power. If I could find a way to harness that power, to take the innate magic of such a creature and use it, I could find a way to become the most enchanter in the Continent. I could find a way to achieve immortality, to gain the power and respect that I deserve! It would allow me to find that brat of the Elder Blood and use her to create the child mentioned in Ithlinne’s Prophecy. With her, I could sire the child that will bring about the end of the world and control its powers. No one would be able to challenge me!” 

Jaskier couldn’t help the savage sound that broke the song for a second as this sunk in. Child of the Elder Blood. He had heard Yennefer and Triss telling Tissaia about this and discussing how they would protect Ciri from those who would use her. He had heard Geralt talking with his brothers and his father about the lengths they would go to in order to allow Ciri to experience as normal of a life as she was able to without putting her safety at risk. If Vilgefortz thought that he would be touching her in any way, he would rip the man’s limbs from him one by one and glory in his screams. 

“And just how would a dragon allow you to do this?” Triss asked. Her voice was tight, but composed. 

“You clearly are as ignorant as all of those other Aretuza bitches, aren’t you? A dragon is magic incarnate. Even those barbarians in Zerrikania know that. If there is a power in this world that can give the power of eternal life and immense power, it must be hidden within their flesh. If I could just be given more time to continue my studies,” the man’s voice took on a wheedling edge as he started to pet at the bars. Gods, the man was creepy. “If I could keep experimenting, maybe I could find a way to share a fraction of my power with you. I could allow you to become so much more powerful than any of those who would keep you in place, who would force you to serve those worms that call themselves kings and queens. I could help you to reach your potential, if you would just release me.” 

Jaskier didn’t even need to do anything to try and retaliate for that comment. Vilgefortz let out a shriek as Triss hissed something out in her sweet little voice, Lambert laughing and congratulating her. 

“I didn’t know you had it in you, Merigold.” 

“If you call me that one more time, you’re going to see just what I’m capable of, witcher.” Her prissy tone couldn’t cover up the traces of pride in her voice. He could hear Yennefer muttering praise for her sister beside her, but was too focused on watching Vilgefortz writhe in pain to pay too much attention. 

“Just how successful were you with your experiments? Clearly you were unable to unlock all of that power, given the fact you’re sitting in this cell screaming as Merigold does her little sparkle power rubbish.” 

“Don’t speak to me, you mutated freak! You think that you have power, that you have a place in this world? Mages created you and your mutt family to serve a purpose, and now you prance around thinking that you are human. You are fit for nothing more than violence.” 

“Can I stab him? I promise not to stab him too much?” Lambert asked. His question was supposedly directed at Triss, but he was looking straight across the cell to where Jaskier was looking through the window. He could hear Vesemir muttering about impertinent pups, but when Triss nodded and said, “I’m sure a flesh wound would help him learn to keep a civil tongue in his head,” Jaskier could almost feel the satisfaction emanating from all of the witchers. 

Jaskier hated to let the moment end, but he was starting to feel rather faint. He supposed the adrenaline of the moment had been sustaining him for a while, since he had never used his magic for this long with this much control before, but now he was fading fast. He allowed himself to sink into the support of Geralt and Yennefer a bit more, allowing them to hold him up so that he could focus all of his energy on maintaining his song. 

Tissaia stepped up beside him, resting a hand on his shoulder. “I think that we are coming to the end of our session for today,” she said in a soft voice. 

Jaskier shook his head, sweat beading on his forehead. He didn’t want to stop, to let the magic leave him the same person that he had been before. He didn’t want to go back to being the person who had been hurt, who had been beaten and experimented on and kept in a cage. He was the person who could inflict pain, not the one who received it. 

“Jaskier,” Geralt grumbled. “Stop.” 

He pulled Jaskier away, jostling him enough that his concentration slipped and the song ended. The snarl that escaped him as he spun to look at Geralt was wholly unintended, but heartfelt all the same. When Yennefer poked at his side in disapproval, he turned and snapped his teeth at her before he could stop himself. 

“And that’s enough out of you, mister,” she said, bopping him on the nose before pulling him from the room. The fact that she could bodily drag him from the room with little assistance from Geralt was depressing, but he was going to blame it on the fact that he suddenly felt that staying upright was about all he could manage. 

“Tissaia, can you reconvene with Triss and start trying to see what the experiments we found may have to do with what he said. I think this one here needs a nap and some time to recover before we start this all again.” 

Yennefer was flinging orders over her shoulder as she and Geralt marched him out of the room. He could feel Borch following along behind them until Yennefer paused to raise one eyebrow at him, her face arranged in that skillfully disinterested glare she used, and then he muttered something about checking on Saskia and Ciri before disappearing down another hallway. 

“Yennefer,” he protested. “Let me go. We were so close. He can tell us what he was doing, what he thought he could rip me apart to do.He can feel the same kind of pain that I had to go through that entire time.” 

“You were right, Geralt,” Yennefer said, sounding rather put upon to be admitting it. “He isn’t as adorable and sweet when he’s all angsty. He should leave that to us. We are so much better at it.” 

Geralt grumbled something in response, seemingly fed up with the way that Jaskier was teetering on his legs, and picked the bard up. Jaskier was not impressed to suddenly find himself upside down over the man’s shoulder again, even less so to see Yennefer fall behind them so that she could continue to lecture him about not allowing vengeance to change who he was and a whole lot of other rubbish that was ridiculously hypocritical coming from her. Not that he would ever dare to tell her so. He rather liked all of his internal organs being in the correct places, thank you very much. 

“Both of you, shut up,” Geralt grumped. “Just shut up until we get back to Jaskier’s room and then you two can bitch at each other all you want and I can have a nap and then we can go down for dinner and figure this all out.” 

“Aw, does the little witcher need his afternoon nap?” Yennefer teased. 

When Geralt turned and managed to grab her under his other arm before throwing her over the opposite shoulder to Jaskier, somehow not letting their heads collide as he kept walking towards their room, both of them started shrieking and slapping at his back. Geralt sighed and ignored them. 

“What did I ever do to deserve both of you?” he said in a voice that was mixed levels of wonder and part despair. 


	54. As we lie here in our bed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier, Yennefer, and Geralt have a moment to talk.

There was no way in hell that Jaskier was going to admit how thankful he was that Geralt had made him take a nap like he was some cranky toddler. Sure, how woke up feeling as if he had just gone three rounds with Lambert on a bad day, but at least he felt moderately more human (and wasn’t that an ironic turn of phrase) and less like he was about to collapse at any moment. That didn’t mean that Geralt had the right to look so unbelievably smug when he saw Jaskier yawning and having a hard time getting up out of the bed. The thing was comfy and he had an octopus, also known as Yennefer, smothering him. 

“Do you want to go down for dinner, or do you want me to bring some food up here so you can continue lazing about?” Geralt asked as he gently pushed a curl of hair back from Jaskier’s face. 

“Mmm, who are you and what you have you done with my Geralt?” he joked. “Food in bed would be delightful, especially since I don’t think that a certain someone will be moving any time soon.” 

Geralt huffed a small laugh at that, his hand moving poke at Yennefer’s cheek where her head was resting on Jaskier’s chest. “She acts like she never needs anyone, but once she’s asleep, you can never seem to get her off of you.” 

“Like you can talk, mister. I seem to recall waking up several times on our adventures boiling alive because some big hulking man decided that he needed to sleep directly on top of me. Your little excuse that you were just making sure I wasn’t an easy target for nekkers or anything was pretty obvious, dear heart.” 

“Dear heart. I like that one.” Geralt turned away as he said it, as if to hide his reaction, but Jaskier managed to wriggle an arm free of Yennefer’s clutches to grab at his wrist and stop him from leaving the room entirely. 

“Well then, I shall just have to keep using it. You are going to be positively disgusted with all of the pet names that I will be using.”

Geralt tugged gently at his grip and Jaskier let the poor man escape from the room to collect them some food. He was determined to show the witcher just how special he was to him, even if Geralt wasn’t exactly comfortable with having positive emotions directed towards him. The thought of poor darling baby Geralt not having all of the love that he deserved brought a scowl to his face as he lay there brooding over more and more elaborate plans to show the man how loved he was. 

“If you keep pulling that face, it’ll stick that way. You won’t be charming your way into any beds with that grumpy look.” Yennefer’s sleepy voice was punctuated by her finger poking at his cheeks. He looked down to see her looking adorably rumpled before she yawned in his face, making him wince at her breath. 

“And I am so glad to see that mages wake up just as disheveled as the rest of us. Your superhuman ability to look put together at all times is clearly out of practice, darling.” 

That got him an annoyed little grumble and an even harder poke to the face. None of it was enough to stop him from laughing gleefully at how adorable she was, or from a small smile to start creeping across her face. 

“You just keep playing with fire, bard. One day soon, it’s going to bite you in the ass, and then we’ll see who has the last laugh.” 

“Not to worry, my lady. See, I have a big strong witcher type fellow and a terrifying mage to protect me. Well, I suppose the mage is a little less terrifying when she’s been drooling on you for Melitele only knows how long but...” 

He was interrupted by her snarling playfully and attacking him with ticklish hands, something that had him squealing in a higher octave than he would like to admit he could reach and fighting back. Neither of them noticed the door opening, or the heavy sigh as Geralt shook his head at the pair of them. 

“I leave you alone for two minutes to go and get some food, and this is what I come back to?” 

The two of them paused enough to exchange looks before nodding and smiling at Geralt with the sweetest expressions they could muster. 

“Put the food down and come join us,” Jaskier said innocently. Yennefer nodded her support beside him. 

“Oh, fuck no. I am not going anywhere near you two right now,” Geralt retorted, taking a step back towards the door. 

Yennefer smiled even wider, muttering something and then grinning when the door shut behind him and the food flew out of his hands to sit on one of the dressers against the wall. 

“Big scary witcher is afraid of little old us, Jaskier. Shall we show him the meaning of fear?” 

Jaskier didn’t even have to respond, just laugh maniacally, and then both of them were leaping from the bed to launch themselves at Geralt. Sure, the man was able to pick each of them up with one arm, but that didn’t prevent them from having the time of their lives trying to make the witcher laugh by tickling him and then, when that failed, trying to squirm out of his grasp with many expletives and laughing complaints while Geralt maintained his stoic expression and stood there as if this was just another inconvenience that Destiny had decided to visit upon him. 

When they finally collapsed into fits of giggles, drooping from Geralt’s arms like a pair of wilted flowers, the witcher deigned to drop them (not gently mind you) back onto the bed and stare at them with his arms crossed. 

“Mmm, look at those biceps,” Yennefer purred. When Geralt scowled at her, she merely laughed at him more, openly leering at his arms. “Come sit with us Geralt, we promise not to bite. Much.” 

He continued to frown at her for a moment before giving in and bringing the food to the bed. “Remind me again why I let you do this to me?” 

“Well, originally it was the amazingly hot sex,” Yennefer mused, ignoring the way that both Jaskier and Geralt gaped at her blasé comment. “Now, I think you have become rather used to me, and I certainly don't have the time or inclination to go training up another witcher when I have a perfectly serviceable one right here.” 

“Hear that, Geralt. You’re _perfectly serviceable_ ,” Jaskier snickered. He got pushed over onto his side for that, and took the opportunity to squirm around until his head was in Geralt’s lap and his legs were thrown over Yennefer's. “What an amazing compliment. And just how useful am I to your plans, oh fierce commander?” 

“I will give you this,” Yennefer said. She put on her haughtiest manner even as she started fiddling with the hem of his pants absentmindedly. “You are moderately entertaining at times, bard.” 

“She’s got you there, poetaster,” Geralt added. 

“The pair of you are absolute beasts!” Jaskier cried dramatically. “I shall have to be very very cross with both of you unless you find some way to make it up to me.” 

“I can think of a few ways,” Yennefer said, her voice taking on that deep, purry edge that he had only ever heard directed at Geralt before. It had him snapping his head up to look at her in shock while he tried to will certain other parts of his anatomy to take less interest in the proceedings. 

“Yen, don’t scare the man.” 

She pouted at Geralt, looking genuinely upset that she had been rebuked for it. 

“It’s not that I don’t appreciate it, darling. I have long since admired Geralt’s bravery for willing to get his cock anywhere near someone so terrifyingly dangerous.” That little bit of flattery seemed to soothe her a little. “But perhaps before we get to the rather delicious exciting things that can be done, we do a little of the talking thing? I happen to be a very big fan of having all cards on the table before clothes come off.” 

“And yet you still managed to end up in the beds of half the married women across the Continent,” Geralt rumbled. 

“Hey, men too. And that was not my fault. For some reason, people seem to think that it’s fine to lie and say that they aren’t in a prior arrangement or that their partner is more than accepting of them sampling from the banquet. You never had a problem helping me escape beforehand.” 

“Not the point, bard. Although, I will be grilling you on those sexual exploits of yours later. You said you wanted to talk, so let’s talk.” Yennefer pushed his legs off of her and pulled him into an upright position, clearly ready to have a serious conversation. Jaskier couldn’t help the urge to crawl under the bed and never come out. Having the feelings talk with Geralt and Yennefer at the same time? Not his idea of fun. However, if he ever wanted their relationship to progress beyond the level of banter and comfort that they had now, they needed to establish a few ground rules and just what this was that they had. 

“Fine, fine. Well, mostly, I just wanted to check that we are all on the same page. You know, that we all know what we expect and need out of this ... whatever it is, and that no one is going to feel as if they aren’t being heard or respected. I would hate for us to jump into something and then lose what we already have.” 

Geralt looked more and more uncomfortable by the second, but Jaskier had been expecting that of the witcher, given that the man seemed to be almost allergic to talking about his feelings. Yennefer was looking at him in confusion, and that was much more worrying. 

“So you mean like talking about things we don’t like with sex? Because if either of you have a problem with my unicorn...” 

Jaksier interrupted her with very wide eyes and a confused look at Geralt, who was studiously ignoring him. “Not that I am not very interested in just what you do with this unicorn, and slightly terrified, that’s not what I mean. At least, not for this conversation. So you want sex to be something between the three of us? I mean, I know that you and Geralt had slept together, but you are asking me to be a part of that as well?” He couldn’t help the slightly astounded tone to his words. The idea that the preternaturally attractive witcher and sorceress would be interested in little old him (because that was still how he thought of himself, dragon shenanigans aside) was mind blowing to him. He had just managed to get his mind around the idea that they may be interested in having some kind of romantic relationship with him, and now Yennefer wanted to sleep with him!

Both Yennefer and Geralt looked at him like they were worried about his sanity. 

“Jaskier,” Geralt said, “of course we would be interested in you. We already had this talk.” 

“Well, yes. We had the talk about the two of us caring for each other, and I promise I won’t make you go through that all over again, dear heart, I know how much it stresses you out.” He ignored Geralt’s growl at that to continue. “But now that it seems as if Yennefer is offering a more long term arrangement than you originally had with her, I am in no way delusional enough to expect you to both to include me if you wanted to continue as you were before. I would be more than happy to continue being a good friend to both of you and caring for you as much as you would permit me too,” he couldn’t help the slight shake in his voice, “but I would never presume to intrude on your relationship.” 

“He really is that stupid, isn’t he?” Yennefer said in a quiet voice. 

Geralt nodded seriously and Jaskier scowled and slapped him on the leg. He was trying to do the nice and polite thing here, and neither of them were taking him seriously. It wasn’t exactly fun to look at everything he had ever wanted and then say _thanks, but now thanks. I would much prefer it if you just rub it in my face for the rest of our very long lives that you have it all and I am nothing but a little tag along._

“Jaskier, you delightful idiot. Both of us want you as much as we want each other. We want you as a part of this, all the way, and not just an extra on the side. Honestly, I thought you were meant to be the one with the emotional intelligence here.” With that little speech,Yennefer pulled him into a kiss that had him losing his gods damned mind, even more when Geralt made a rumbling noise and pressed against his back, clearly wanting to be a part of this moment. When Yennefer surfaced to breathe, Geralt quickly turned the bard to kiss him himself, while Yennefer sighed with contentment. 

“Those smug bitches at Aretuza can eat their hearts out. This is what they wanted to stop us from having, and fuck them very much.” 

“Yen, darling, stop complaining about the people who raised you and get over here. All of us had people who wish we were living long and lonely lives, and isn’t it an even bigger fuck you to enjoy ever minute of it than to brag to nothing?” 

Jaskier barely had a moment to smirk at her before he found himself being pulled into another embrace and hands working along his clothes. After that, he was far too busy to worry about whether or not they really truly wanted him there as they proceeded to show him exactly how much they wanted all three of them to enjoy themselves.


End file.
